


A Million and One Words

by scrittore9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aurors, Crimes & Criminals, F/M, Friendship, Kidnapping, Kindness, Press and Tabloids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-15 06:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/846313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrittore9/pseuds/scrittore9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Out of curiosity, how much was Potter kidding when he said that half my job was keeping Weasley away from reporters?”<br/>“Not at all.”<br/>"Fantastic."<br/>Magdalena Shepard, fresh out of Hogwarts, is hired on as press liaison for the Aurors. In theory, it sounded simple, but murder, mothers, marriage proposals, and crushes on the boss's son tend to complicate things.<br/>My first ever mystery/story with passable plot, written because Albus Potter is an awesome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which A Job Interview is Conducted

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This story is a lot of firsts for me, so hang on. All mistakes are mine, grammatical and otherwise, and if you would be kind enough to point them out, they will be corrected. Any and all feedback is appreciated.  
> Disclaimer: If Harry Potter was mine, university debts would not be.

Monday mornings always come too quickly, and it was with an almighty sigh that I rolled out of bed. Instantly Vermeer dove into the warm cocoon of the spot I had just vacated.  
“Damn cat.” He flicked his tail at me and smirked. Can cats smirk? Mine can. And then I remembered the day.  
“Job interview today, dear,” my mirror chirped.  
“Thanks, Mrs. Gardiner.”  
“Don’t fret dear, you’ll do splendidly!”  
With a grimace, I pulled on my nylons and Muggle business suit, a graduation present from my Muggleborn mother. The robe I pulled on next was entirely my father. “That way, Lena, you’re prepared for whichever world you get a job in first!” I decided then and there that they didn’t need to know about the waitressing job I’d gotten at a small Muggle café around the corner from my flat. Speaking of my flat. Hopping from throw rug to shabby carpet, I made my way from my bed on the far wall through the middle ground which served as both a living room and dining room and into the square of tile that passed as a kitchen. Yes, my flat is one room. I’m 18, just out of school, and not living with my parents, though, so don’t judge. A tap on my window made my fingers slip pulling the toast from the toaster.  
“Bugger,” I muttered, sucking the burnt appendage and leaning over to the window. “Hey, Sis.” My mother named the poor bird, I would just like to assert. Sisyphus hopped from the sill to the counter, letting me take the letter from her beak as she helped herself to Vermeer’s water. He hissed from the bed, knowing exactly what she was doing, and I flapped my hand at him.  
“Oh, share.” He settled back, still indignant. Sisy ruffled her feathers and daintily nibbled an owl treat from my fingers.  
“Hello, dear!” My mother’s overly perky voice emanated from the letter as soon as I tore the envelope. Shaping itself into a passable imitation of my mother’s mouth, it hovered in front of me. What would come from its mouth in a matter of seconds was undoubtedly a personal pep talk, laced with undertones of ‘get the job or else’ that I had no time for, so I let the Howler talk itself to ash as I finished my toast and glared at the pile of ash now on my kitchen floor, utterly unamused. There are, however, benefits to being a witch of age, and so I relished, perhaps more than strictly necessary, in the fact that a flick of my wand could set the broom and dustpan skittering across the floor. Sisy was settling herself on the back of a dilapidated lounger by the time I had finished my tea.  
“Want out now or later, Sis? Right, return letter.” How could I forget. “Behave yourselves,” I warned Vermeer and Sisy, slipping my feet into the heels and wrapping my cloak around me.  
I live in a somewhat seedy area of London, since that’s where rent’s affordable. Anyway, there was no one in the hallway as I left, and even the streets were a little emptier than normal, which would have been odd, except that as I stepped out, the cold wind and rain actually sent me spinning on my heel and scurrying right back inside the front door. Today, the wind had evidently decided it was a good day to come out and play, whipping up streets and around corners and driving the cold drizzle that was falling into the faces of anyone unfortunate enough to venture out. By the time I reached the apparation point, my hair and clothes were sufficiently wet and mussed. When I apparated to the Ministry’s point, I beelined for the restroom, hoping to repair my appearance as much as possible. Yeah, perfect timing, spring. It’s early April, for Merlin’s sake. I had just tugged my robes back into place and was smoothing my hair when none but Hermione Weasley strolled in. My mouth went dry and I willed myself- okay, begged myself- not to stare. She too stepped up to the mirror, smiling wryly at my stupefaction.  
“Weather’s rather nasty today,” she remarked, patting at her own curls. I nearly swallowed my hairpins nodding. ‘Snap out of it,’ I chided myself. It’s only your idol.  
“And here I was thinking only I was so lucky,” I grinned, and she chuckled.  
“It targets people with curly, unruly hair,” she assured me, surveying my black curls. “I’m Hermione Weasley, by the way.”  
I barely suppressed and ‘I know,’ instead returning a “Magdalena Shepard,” and offering my hand. Her grip was firm and she eyed me curiously.  
“You know, I don’t recall having seen you around before. What department do you work in?”  
“I hope to work in the Magical Law Enforcement department,” I told her as we emerged from the bathroom. “I have an interview today with the Aurors as their new press liaison.” Hermione Weasley’s eyes sharpened and she smiled.  
“I wish you the best of luck, then. And if it doesn’t work out, I wish you would send an application to the Justice Department.”  
“Thanks,” I said, ashamedly starstruck. Hermione Weasley liked me. Shaking out of it, I joined the queue to the lifts and awkwardly crammed myself in. The fourth floor could not have come fast enough, but when I reached it, I hung back and let the corridor clear out a bit.  
“Well, here goes nothing.”  
Consuela Banks, the receptionist’s nameplate read, and I approached the motherly looking witch.  
“Hello, I’m Magdalena Shepard, here for . . .” my words were curtailed by a loud bang, raucous laughter, and the yelling of an impending argument. Alarmed, I peered around the wall that stood behind Consuela Banks’s desk, as did the other five hopefuls seated in the lobby of the Auror office. Before my eyes, Consuela Banks stood from her desk, leaned around the wall, and hollered, “Weasley! Levitt! Behave!” Then, sweet as can be, she returned to her seat, smiling in a friendly way.  
“Magdalena Shepard here for your interview?” she inquired sweetly. “Have a seat, love, they’ll be out in a minute.”  
“Thanks,” I mumbled, joining the other applicants on the far side of the lobby and observing with amusement their uneasy looks. I was leaning against a wall in the corner when a lean, tall man with ruffled hair stumbled out, catching himself on the corner of Ms. Banks’s desk.  
“First victim- I mean applicant,” he grinned, dodging Ms. Banks’s half-hearted swat and taking a stack of files from her hand, “is Ashby, Larry.”  
“Levitt,” Consuela Banks sighed with the weary air of someone who has done the same thing many times.  
“Yes, mother, I’ll play nice,” Levitt sighed right back at her. He was disappearing around the corner with Ashby, Larry trailing his gangly form after him when Levitt’s head reappeared. “But I can’t promise for the others.”  
The lobby was quiet again, and from where I was leaning against the wall, I took the opportunity to survey my fellow applicants. No one I recognized, though two of the other guys seemed like recent Hogwarts grads, and the older man and woman may have been in their late thirties to forties.  
Five minutes later, a thoroughly terrified looking Larry Ashby sprinted out of the office as though the hounds of hell were chasing him. Our heads all tracked his path out the door and straight onto the lift, then turned slowly back to where Levitt was casually sauntering back into the lobby.  
“Next.”  
Twenty minutes later, both the older woman and one of the recent grads had come and gone, albeit far more sedately than Larry Ashby. I was tapping my fingers in time to the Cauldron Bums’ latest song.  
“Shepard, Magdalena.” Steeling myself, I followed Levitt through the door behind Consuela Banks’s desk. She gave me an encouraging smile as I passed.  
The aurors each had a small cubicle, the walls of each of which were plastered in newspaper clippings, photos and other memorabilia in varying states of gruesomeness.  
“Through here, Miss Shepard.” Levitt held the door open, and I flashed him what I sincerely hoped was my most charming smile. It was something of a conference room, though I was positive it had been used as an interrogation room just as often. On one side of the long table sat Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and a strict woman that I didn’t recognize. Levitt took a seat next to her as I sat on the opposite side of the table.  
“Good morning, Miss Shepard.” Levitt passed my file down to Harry Potter, and he flipped it open before looking up again. “Harry Potter.” He extended his hand, and I stood to shake it. “Ron Weasley, Archana Price, and you probably know George Levitt.”  
“Pleasure.” I sat back down, and Potter once again perused my file.  
“Ravenclaw?” Weasley was reading over Potter’s shoulder. “Funny,” he remarked to Harry. “I thought Hogwarts used to make them tougher than that Ashby bloke.” Harry elbowed him, but that didn’t deter him. “I hope you last longer than the other three.” He grinned wolfishly.  
“You know,” I studied his hair critically, “Scaring them off probably had something to do with the mess on your head. Is it a requirement for the men here not to own combs?”  
Okay. So maybe not my best decision ever, insulting not only the people I wanted a job from, but also two of the most important people in the wizarding world. But I had done it, irked by their slight on my house, and I kept my chin up. And what I saw almost made my jaw drop. Ron Weasley was grinning at me. Levitt was chuckling, smoothing his hair. Harry Potter and Archana Price were fighting their amusement, and when he looked up from the file again, Potter’s eyes were twinkling.  
“Ouch, it bites,” Levitt muttered, wincing at Archana’s elbow.  
“Very good,” Potter approved. “Because that fancy title of Press Liason? It basically boils down to being Ron’s brain to mouth filter. And well, the other stuff too.”  
“Awesome. If you’ll have me, I’m in.”  
The rest of the interview was focused on what the aurors considered my qualifications, things like could I out-talk Weasley and Levitt, beat Price in arm wrestling, and help Potter pick out an anniversary present for his wife. They were satisfied that I had graduated Hogwarts and that my references were in order, and finally Potter grinned at me.  
“We’ll be in contact.”


	2. In Which the Aurors Are Welcoming

“So that’s it?” I whispered to Levitt as he led me back through the Auror office.

“Yep. It’s mostly fit they’re looking for. You obviously have the brains to do the job, they just want to know that you have the common sense to handle it.”

“Oh.” Levitt stopped abruptly so that I almost crashed into him.

“Brilliant interview, Miss Shepard. Best of the day.” I chose to take the compliment, and waved at Ms. Banks on the way out the door.

 

Two days later, a strange owl was waiting for me when I got home from waitressing.  
“Hello there, handsome.” I let the owl in, exchanging the letter for a treat. “Tell me you’re from the Ministry, please.” He hooted, butting my arm. Holding my breath, I slit open the seal.  
“Holy cheese I made it!”

An impromptu victory dance was preformed, observed by an uncannily amused looking owl and cat. Quickly I scribbled a note to my parents, knowing that Sisy would be by sooner than later. “Thanks again,” I told the owl. My euphoria now gone, I realized how much my feet hurt from my eight hour shift, and sighing, I went in for a shower, stripping off the sadly unflattering waitress uniform dress.

Like I said before, my apartment is one room with a tiny bathroom off to the side. When I exited said bathroom in my towel, I found my best friend lounged on my bed, a contentedly purring Vermeer perched on her stomach.

“Congrats on the job!” India Carmichael chirped. I glared at her over my shoulder, having retreated to the corner where a tattered dressing screen stood.

“How did you . . .”

“I read your letter.” India shrugged unrepentantly. 

“You know that’s a Ministry ofence, Miss Carmichael.

“So sue me.”

“I might just send the Aurors after you.”

“You do that,” India snorted, then paused. “Can you make sure they’re the cute ones? I only want the cute ones hunting me down. Got it?’

“Sure, sure.” Now fully dressed, I joined her on the bed. “I’m sure I could swing that.”

“Good,” India hummed. “So? Details!” For the next half hour, I regaled India with tales of Levitt, Potter, both Weasleys, and that one kid who had run screaming. She particularly enjoyed that one. Suddenly, she held up her hand. “Hush. My story’s on.” It was then that I noticed that she had the tv on in the background, and indeed, the opening chords to her soap were starting.

“Aha!”

“What?” India made shushing motions with her hand, and I ignored them.

“I knew you visited me only for my television!”

“Little bit.” India shrugged. “Muggles have cool stuff.”

“I love my best friend,” I reminded myself, shoving her head as I walked by. “Cup of tea?”

“Please.” When the tea was done, I saw India had relocated to the couch, and I sat at the other end, shoving her feet off.

“I start tomorrow,” I told her, and she grinned at me.

“I wanna picture of Levitt and any other cuties.”

“I’ll do my best.”

 

Thankfully, the sun was out as I stepped out my front door, and my walk to the apparation point was almost pleasant. I took it as a good omen, thanked Merlin, God, and anyone else who might be listening, and spun on my heel.

Consuela Banks was already at her desk, and the smile she offered was nothing short of friendly. “Hello dear! It’s so good to see a fresh face. Congratulations on your new job, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” I thanked her earnestly and headed back, running into none but Levitt, who was deep in conversation with a witch who looked to be about the same age. Which, if I had to guess, would be mid 20’s.

“Hey Magdalena!” I had been trying to slide past, not wanting to disturb their conversation, but the fact remained that Levitt was really the only one I knew around here. “Meet my partner, Althea Fox.” We shook hands.

“You must be the new liaison. Good luck.” But her smile was friendly, and so I grinned back.

“They’re in a meeting with the Head of Magical Law Enforcement right now, but they’ll be done soon. Here, let me show you your office.” Levitt set off with Fox by his side, leaving me to trail behind. The pair came to a halt outside of a dully empty cubicle, and Levitt waved a hand airily at the grey walls. 

“Welcome home, Miss Shepard.

“Thanks . . .” I trailed off, not sure what to call him.

“George,” he supplied. “And Althea. She doesn’t bite.”

“Only bad guys,” Althea added with a smile that gave me the impression that she also bit any woman who looked twice at George.

“Then I’m Lena.” I addressed it to her, assuring her that she would not, in fact, have to bite me.

“Levitt!” The yell echoed down the corridor and the man in question winced.

“That’s my cue,” he sighed, turning and setting off down the hall. Althea lingered.

“It is really good to have you,” she said. “Now, this is a man’s world, so don’t let anyone push you around. If you need anything, talk to me or Consuela.” As I stuttered my thanks, she set off after Levitt.

I was sitting down, trying out my new chair when Consuela bustled in.

“Here you are, dear. Your first assignment!” She held out a formidably large stack of paperwork, and I took the proffered mountain, heart sinking.

“Looks like . . . fun,” I finished lamely.”

“It’s just the standard release forms, et cetera,” she laughed at me. “You’ll be done in no time.” After a short chat, she left, and I was left to the inevitable.  
I was roughly a quarter of the way through when another disruption appeared behind me.

“Well hello,” a deep male voice said. “You must be the new girl.”

“What gave it away?” I muttered, turning to face the two men who stood at the entrance to my cubicle, grinning. They were notably older than George and  
Althea, and far more battle scarred.

“We saw Levitt and Fox with you earlier, figured it was our turn,” the other man said. “I’m Nathan Goldstein,” he was the tall, stocky one, “and this is my partner,”

“Cadmus Proudfoot,” broke in the lean, slightly shorter man, holding out his hand. I shook it.

“Magdalena Shepard, pleased to meet you.”

“New girl?” Another old man, complete with grizzled beard appeared. “Inigo Jones.”

“Must be a good day to be new,” I said. “I get to meet everyone.”

“Oh, not everyone,” Inigo Jones assured me. “There’s plenty more of us old geysers out in the field at the moment.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, distracted slightly by the disgruntled mutterings of Proudfoot and Goldstein (“Old geysers? Speak for yourself, you prat”) and the arrival of Jones’s partner,

“Christopher Wren, will you marry me?” My cheeks reddened at that, and I held up a hand. They fell silent.

“It’s very nice to meet you all, but I really need to get back to this.” I gestured at the mound of paperwork on my desk. “Unless you’d like to help . . .”

“Oh, we really should get back.” They all were headed off when Wren turned. “Offer still stands, missy.” He winked, tipping an imaginary hat from his grey head. I waved sarcastically, and was just taking up my quill again when someone else appeared.

“No, Wren, I will not marry you,” I sighed, swiveling to face none other than Harry Potter, who had a single eyebrow raised.

“I won’t ask,” he said wryly, lips twitching at my now cherry red cheeks. “Come on.” Immediately I sprang from my chair.

“Sir, I haven’t finished my release forms,” I told him as I followed.

“Don’t call me sir,” was his automatic response. Then, “oh, you didn’t? Try not to die, then.”

“Got it,” I muttered.


	3. In Which I Go On My First Case

We apparated to a dingy suburb of Manchester, the kind which- despite the disreputability of my own neighborhood- I wouldn’t have walked alone in at night.  
“We call this ‘on the job training’,” Potter told me, marching forward to where Archana Price was standing, surveying a dilapidated apartment building.  
“Murder victim name of Cythera Clapham,” Price informed us as we came closer. “Gruesome death, Potter.”  
“It’s okay.” Potter motioned for her to continue, and with a searching look in my direction, Price drew in a breath.  
“Stomach was cut, intestines removed and arranged on the floor to form the letters D.M. Then the throat was slit.” My own stomach began feeling queasy, but I hid it as both Potter and Price kept shooting furtive looks at me. Some discomfort was evident on my face, however, since Potter sighed.  
“First is always the hardest,” he said sympathetically. “And this one is disturbing no matter how much experience you have. Stay here, field questions when the Prophet shows up. You know nothing but the name and that the Aurors are on scene, got it?”  
“Got it.” I was proud that my voice didn’t shake. Potter and Price headed in, talking quietly to each other, and I was relatively alone. There were a few MLE officers hanging around the block doing a horrible job of looking inconspicuous in muggle clothing, and I assumed they were there to minimize muggle interference.  
About fifteen minutes later, an unfamiliar man appeared on the corner. He was stopped briefly by one of the MLEs before both of them turned to stare directly at me, and the man hurried over.  
“Thyrus Maldoruous,” he informed me, sticking a hand in my face. “Daily Prophet,” he continued, unperturbed by the revolted look on my face and the fact that I hadn’t shaken his hand. “You must be new, sweetheart.” He winked. “Want papa to show you the ropes?”  
“Actually, no thank you. I would like ‘papa’ to take four steps back, and if you refer to me as anything but Lena Shepard, you will not be getting any information.”  
Maldorous looked furious for five seconds, but decided that information was better than giving me a piece of his mind. He took an exaggerated four steps backward and bowed obnoxiously.  
“Better, Miss Shepard?”  
“Much, thank you.”  
“Name?”  
“Cythera Clapham. And the Aurors are on the scene.” He waited a few moments, then stared incredulously.  
“That’s it?”  
“That’s everything,” I confirmed.  
“Bloody useless . . .” he swore under his breath, breaking off when I shot him a warning look. “Aren’t press liaisons supposed to know more?”  
“Press liaisons aren’t paid to know,” I told him primly. “Press liaisons are paid to deal with rude reporters such as yourself. Now please go stand over there.” I waved my hand dismissively at a spot a good 20 yards away, and Maldorous stomped off.  
“Nicely done,” a voice said from behind me, and I couldn’t help but jump. Althea Fox stood behind me, and I got the distinct impression that George Levitt wasn’t far.  
“Thanks.” I decided my best bet was to act as though she hadn’t just made me jump half out of my skin. “Out of curiosity, how much was Potter kidding when he said that half my job was keeping Weasley away from reporters?”  
“Not at all.”  
“Wonderful.” Then a thought dawned on me. “You’re here to babysit me!”  
“Yes.” Fox didn’t flinch under my accusing stare. “But I was impressed, so you’re not doing too bad.”  
“Great.” We stood in silence until Potter and Price reemerged. From the corner of my eye, Maldorous’s forward motion caught my eye, and I held out a warning hand to halt him. He did so, looking positively thunderous. Potter grinned.  
“You have him trained already, Shepard?”  
“We have made definite progress, sir.” He shot another amused look at the fuming Maldorous. “Story’s that it was a robbery gone bad.”  
“But sir, is that true? You described a horrific . . .”  
“It was torture.” Potter’s face was grim. “She was tortured to death for some sort of information, and apparently that failed, because the apartment was ransacked. Robbery gone bad, Shepard. Go.”  
With a deep breath, I steeled myself and marched over to Maldorous.

Lunch didn’t look terribly appetizing that day. Consuela Banks found me in my cubicle at lunch, half-heartedly filling out paperwork and avoiding looking at the lunch sack that sat in the corner.  
“Rough first day, dear?”  
“Gruesome,” I corrected, and she made sympathetic noises at me.  
“You should eat something.”  
“Don’t think I can stomach it.” I sighed, turning to her. “Ms. Banks,”  
“Consuela.”  
“Consuela, I didn’t even see the body. Just got the description from Potter and Price. I shouldn’t be this affected.”  
“No, dear, no human being should inflict that kind of damage on another.”  
Feeling slightly better after my chat with Consuela, I handed her my paperwork and went off to find a quiet corner in which to eat my lunch.  
When I returned, it was to find George spinning in my chair and Althea eyeing him with mock disapproval that bordered on amusement.  
“Just wanted to see how your first case went,” George stopped spinning abruptly, nearly falling off. Althea and I rolled our eyes.  
“You did fairly decent,” she assured me. “Here’s a copy of the file. Potter wants you to start your press brief with this information, remembering what he told you.”  
“Robbery gone bad,” I muttered.  
“Listen,” George had recovered, “this is obviously a sicko we’re dealing with, but it’s a methodical sicko. He’s looking for something, and while he is, he’s not a danger to the general public. Unless there’s another murder, MLE’s policy is to keep the news under wraps so there’s not a huge panic.”  
“Like with the Monster Murderer.”  
“Precisely.” Althea’s mouth was grim. “Panic made it harder to catch the bastard, and then we had copy cat killers running around.”  
“Keeping it quiet. Got it.”  
Althea and George left- Althea towed George away by the ear- and I was left to flip through the file. I opened it and immediately wished I hadn’t. The front held the crime scene photos that had been taken, and I was glad I hadn’t managed any lunch, because it surely would’ve come back up. Gingerly, I picked them up and flipped them over, shoving them to the far corner of the desk. That done, I began to read about Cythera Clapham. She was a 60-year-old bartender at the pub Circe’s Sorrow, and had worked there for 20 years. There was no known family for her, and she had lived in that apartment for 10 of her 20 years in Manchester. I skimmed, pausing further down the page on the paragraph about her suspected role in the smuggling ring that allegedly operated from Circe’s Sorrow. Nothing had ever been proved, but the MLEs had suspected it for years. And so I began my release.  
Maldorous was waiting for me in the lobby of the Auror office when I emerged, and Consuela shot him a disapproving glare as I headed toward him.  
“What’s the official word, Miss Shepard?” He drew out the last bit mockingly, and I ignored him.  
“Here’s what the official report is.” I handed him the paper. “The death has been ruled accidental as a result of a bungled robbery. Given the neighborhood, the Auror office is not even sure that the crime was committed by another wizard or witch.” Maldorous opened his mouth and I hastened to finish. “The Auror office has no further comment.” I spun on my heel. There it was. My first press release, approved by Price and Potter before being handed to Maldorous. Relieved, I returned to my cubicle, reassembling the file. Did I keep it? The cubicle to my right was as empty as it had been that morning, though the walls certainly showed signs of residency. To the left, another man sat, and I turned to him.  
“Hello, I’m Magdalena Shepard, new press liaison. I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”  
“Probably for a good reason,” the man snorted, and I drew back. Well, that was uncalled for.  
“Fine, I won’t bother you any more. Just tell me, do I keep this file or return it somewhere?”  
“Case closed?” He grunted.  
“I . . . don’t think so?”  
“Keep it.” With that, he turned around in his chair, clearly dismissing me. It stung a bit, but I went back to my desk, stashing the file in one of the drawers.  
“Shepard!” That was Weasley’s voice, and I stood up to see where it was coming from. He stood in front of the door to his office, and so I went.  
But it wasn’t Weasley’s office we turned into. He led me down a corridor, took a few turns, and then held open a door.  
“Welcome to the big leagues,” he muttered, waving me through. I thanked him quietly, entering a room that held none but Potter, Price, Hermione Weasley, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Calpurnia Marchbanks, and a few others who I didn’t recognize but assumed to be important. Potter nodded at me as Weasley took a seat between him and his wife.  
“Preemptive measures meeting,” he muttered. “The murder was connected to two previous cold cases, so we’re assuming this is a serial killer coming back. Take notes for me.” Since nobody seemed eager to budge down and give me a space at the table, I looked around. A middle-aged man waved at me from a row of chairs along the wall, and so I joined him.  
“Jude Edgecombe,” he said quietly, extending a hand. “I’m the press liaison for Mrs. Marchbanks, and I cover the MLEs as well. Welcome to the club.”  
“Thanks.” I took a seat next to him. “Magdalena Shepard. I’m . . .”  
“New,” he finished with a kind smile, and I decided I liked him. “And doing rather well, from what I’ve heard. Thyrus Maldorous is a real charmer, but if you can handle him, then you’re off to a good start. Fortunately, he’s one of the more straightforward ones; the messier this case gets, the more bloodhounds the Prophet and the others will send, and they’re nasty ones. Just remember, you need anything, you ask.”  
“Thanks,” I said again, pulling a notebook and pen from my robes. “So, this meeting is private, correct? It’s not going to the press at all?”  
“That’s right,” Edgecombe was staring, oddly transfixed by my choice of writing implement. “But secretaries are usually spread thin, and occupied with other things, so we sit in these meetings instead. Honestly, sometimes we’re more of personal assistants than press liaisons. Now, what is that?”  
“A pen,” I grinned. “Far more convenient than quills. Self-inking, and doesn’t make a mess.” I handed it to him, and he examined it, fascinated, until Mrs. Marchbanks cleared her throat and the meeting began.


	4. In Which St. Mungo's and I Get Acquainted

It was an hour later that Edgecombe and I left for lunch, me doubling back to grab my lunch sack, which elicited hearty guffaws from Edgecombe.  
“Like a bitty schoolgirl,” he chortled.  
“Fine, what do you have?”  
“Oh, sweetheart. You really are new.”  
Edgecombe showed me down the street to a dingy pub called The Hinkypunk. It seemed to be the place to go, if you were a ministry employee, and at lunch hour it was positively bursting.  
“Oy, everyone!” Edgecombe really could yell if he had a mind to, I noted, as half the pub fell quiet. “This here’s Lena Shepard, new press liaison to the Aurors!”  
There was a heartwarming chorus of “’Lo, Lena!” and “Welcome to hell!” and variations thereof before we found our way to a booth on the wall. We passed Goldstein and Proudfoot, who waved merrily, and Edgecombe gestured for me to slide in first. The four occupants of the table stared, though not hostilely.  
“Oy Jude, you bring us a pretty young thing like this every day and we’ll never quarrel again!” A bear of a man grinned roguishly, prompting Edgecombe to roll his eyes.  
“Shepard, Turner. Turner, behave yourself.”  
“Men,” the woman next to Turner sighed. I’m Noor Siddiqui.”  
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Sid . . . Noor.” That drew more laughter, especially from Noor, who was an unfairly beautiful Middle Eastern woman with almond eyes. Next to her was Maisie Swansea and Eli Kinlan. Over the course of a very entertaining lunch, I learned that Noor and Maisie both worked in the MLE as Obliviators, and Turner was on the streets, keeping muggles away from magical crime scenes.  
“It’s not like we can just put up police tape like muggles can,” he explained. Kinlan was their friend from the Justice Department, chief of criminal prosecution.  
Once lunch hour was over, we all headed back to the Ministry in a stream of Ministry employees, and I spent the rest of the day learning the ropes from Edgecombe.

Actually, I spent the next week learning the ropes from Edgecombe, since Potter and Weasley didn’t have much else to give me. In my time as Edgecombe’s assistant, Althea was often there, hovering and pretending that she wasn’t glowering the entire time. George was often out on assignment, and though it was clear that he missed her from the number of visits he paid his partner any time he could, she still chafed at the inactivity.  
“You know.”  
“I’m sorry?”  
“About my mother. Potter told you, didn’t he?”  
“Yes.” I saw no point in lying. Althea had cornered me in the deserted hallway between the MLE and auror office, and there was no escape that I could see.  
“That’s why he has me babysitting you, isn’t it? So you can keep an eye on me?”  
“Yes.” She turned and punched the wall, her fist actually going through with the force. She swore under her breath as she extracted it. Silently, I pulled out my wand and repaired the torn plaster, then took her hand from where she had it cradled in hers and fixed her bloody knuckles. Then I kept walking. She kept up. Finally I looked at her. “She’s the reason you became an auror?”  
“Yes.”  
“She’d be proud.” And that was all that we said of that incident, but the next day, Althea Fox accompanied Edgecombe, the MLEs and I to lunch.

Ten days after I began at the Ministry, Harry Potter’s Patronus appeared in my apartment at 4 a.m.  
“Good morning, Miss Shepard. I’m terribly sorry to wake you, but there’s been another attack and we need you at St. Mungos.” My sleep deprived mind raced as I scrambled into clothes. The victim was still alive. We would be getting more answers. And there was no possible way to keep this one from the press. I was hurrying through the ground floor of the hospital, which housed the emergency wing and artifact accidents, when Price and Fox accosted me.  
“Victim name of Elsie Lloyd,” Price told me. “Same torture as Clapham, but she was found in time, because she was outside the pub.”  
We came up short as a team of lime-green robed Healers sprinted past, Levitating a stretcher bearing a woman I assumed was the victim. They turned through a door, and Price and Fox followed. So I followed them. And immediately wished I hadn’t. A window allowed us to see into the room where Elsie Lloyd was having her intestines reassembled. My stomach revolted, and I instantly turned.  
“I’ll be in the waiting room fielding questions,” I managed, hurrying away. I heard Althea follow me, and tried to compose myself. It was a good thing that I did, too, because the lobby held several reporters. As we rounded the corner, flash bulbs began going off, and voices clamored to be heard. My head pounding with disgust, I halted. “Stop.” The noise grew louder, and I pulled out my wand, Silencing all of them. Sick to my stomach, I eyed all of them. “Do you realize this is a hospital? There are people seriously injured here, people trying to recover, and this is how you behave? I shook my head, folding my arms. “Now, my name is Lena Shepard, and I am the new press liaison for the Aurors. If any of you ever want information from me again, you will behave with respect toward this hospital, its employees and patients. Clear?” I lifted the charm, and was greeted with nods and quiet murmurs of assent. “Now, the victim’s name is Elsie Lloyd, also of Manchester. She was attacked outside of Circe’s Sorrow Pub in Manchester and is currently in critical condition. Healers are with her as we speak. Now, any questions?”  
“Yes,” a man pushed in front of Maldorous, who looked very out of place among these new reporters with a sense of personal hygiene. “Burt Sanders, The Scribbler, is this attack linked to the death of Ms. Clapham?”  
“Most likely,” I told him, “But we’re not certain yet.”  
Their questions eventually died away, and Althea and I gravitated out of the corridor and over to a wall where we would be more out of the way. A few Mediwitches and receptionists who had been at the front desk when the press debacle had started passed with quiet acknowledgements and respectful nods.  
“That was good, what you did,” Althea told me quietly. “You may have made a few enemies amongst them, but you were right to silence them. Many times reporters are focused solely on getting a story, and don’t realize how many folks they’re hurting in the process.” I figured that she had personal experience in that area, and kept quiet. “Lena, thank you.” After that, we were both quiet, waiting for an update and keeping our eyes on the press. Althea assured me that there were charms in place that restricted them from snooping without being invited, which made our lives far easier. Finally, Potter and Price emerged, beckoning us back down the corridor without drawing the attention of the press.

In the office of Healer Willoughby we met, Potter, Weasley, Price, Althea, George and I. Healer Willoughby, flanked by two other Healers, assured us that Miss Lloyd was now out of surgery but still in critical condition due to shock and loss of blood.  
“Is there any family to be contacted?”  
“I’ve found a cousin,” George informed Potter.  
“Good. Get them here. Shepard. How fares the press?”  
“She did very well this morning,” Fox broke in. “Told them off for being disruptive and rude in a hospital. You should have seen it.” Weasley clapped my back, guffawing; George and Potter were grinning at me proudly and Price was hiding her own reaction, though her eyes sparkled. My cheeks were pink.  
“Keep it up, Shepard. They deserve to be taught a lesson. Remember, no details.” Healer Willoughby, Potter, Weasley and Price left, discussing something. Althea gravitated toward George, and I slipped out the door, my nausea back in force. My vision was blurring as I stumbled down the mercifully empty corridor, clutching the wall as a guide.  
“Here, in here,” a gentle voice said, and a strong arm circled my waist, helping me through a door. Immediately inside was a trash bin, and I fell to my knees, my dinner making a reappearance. The man pulled my hair back and rubbed my back as I puked, apparently unperturbed as he murmured soothing things. Finally, there was nothing left to come back up, and I allowed myself to be pulled to my feet by the green clad figure. He led me to a sink, filling a cup for me to rinse my mouth.  
“Thanks,” I muttered, blinking against the tears threatening at the random kindness of this Healer, the obnoxiousness of the press, and the horrific fate of all the victims. He pulled me to him and let me cry into his shoulder. I tried to keep it brief, swiping angrily at my eyes as I hiccupped quietly.  
“Here.” He knocked my hands away from my face, using his wand to dry my eyes and remove evidence that I had been crying. I looked, for the first time, up into the face of the kind stranger.  
“Albus Potter?”  
“Guilty,” he chortled, gently holding my chin so he could finish on my face. “You must be Magdalena Shepard.”  
“How did you know that?”  
“My father and Uncle Ron have been laughing about the little firecracker who can put the press in their place for days now.” The amusement was soft of his face, and shadowed by genuine concern. “Are you alright now?”  
“Fine,” I sighed. “Just feeling foolish now.”  
“I puked the first time I saw a victim too.” Albus Potter’s eyes, green like his father’s, were honest. “He had touched a ring cursed to flay the skin from any who wore it.” I shuddered. “You were very brave though, keeping yourself together for so long.”  
“Really?” As soon as the plaintive word left my lips, I winced at how desperate it sounded. But Albus didn’t laugh at me, just nodded honestly.  
“Only I didn’t have anyone to hold my hair and rub my back,” he said. “But I knew that look on your face, recognized the nausea.”  
“Thank you.” Thank you for not laughing, for being kind, for caring enough to come after me.  
“You’re welcome,” Albus Potter said, and I believed he understood.


	5. Chapter 5

Albus Potter’s kindness carried me through the morning. I knew I couldn’t stay in that little exam room forever, but all the same I paused at the door. Albus gave me a gentle shove from behind.  
“Go on,” he whispered. “Go whip the press into shape.” With his encouraging smile at my back, I took a deep breath and set off to find Althea. Of course, where Althea was, there also was George, who apparently hadn’t been called back by Potter yet. They were lurking in the doorway to what I assumed was an empty room, talking seriously, and they quieted as I approached. They didn’t move, though, and I noticed Althea’s shoulder touching George’s, apparently drawing comfort from the contact. I couldn’t begrudge her that, and pretended not to see.  
“Hey, Lena. You alright?” Both looked solemn, worried.  
“Yeah. I’m good.”  
“Okay.” George looked as though he didn’t quite believe me, but left it at that.  
“Thea, I’m telling you . . .”  
“You want to go update the press?” Althea cut across George, looking as though she’d rather do anything but, and I nodded, glancing between the partners and what they obviously weren’t saying.  
“Yeah, I should go do that now. You can stay, if you want.”  
“No. You go and I’ll meet you.” I turned to leave, catching out of the corner of my eye the way she pressed a little further into his side before she left. Me and Althea didn’t do girl talk, though, so I kept quiet.  
The reporters were on their feet again as I entered, though they stayed quiet, apparently believing my threats.  
“Miss Lloyd is out of surgery, though her condition is still critical. Her family has been contacted.”  
There were more questions that I fielded with relative ease.  
“Okay, we can go check on George again,” I said when they were done. We headed back down the hall to find George ushering an old man down the hallway.  
“She’s resting in here, Mr. Magnus. He held the door to Elsie Lloyd’s room open, nodding at the Aurors flanking the doors. They were two I didn’t recognize, and as Althea and I halted outside the room, I nodded to them.  
“Gentlemen.”  
“Miss Shepard.” They chorused. “Alfie Fox.”  
“Alistair, Witte! What did I say about that nickname?”  
“Well, Alistair, I do believe she said she loved it.”  
“I remember hearing that, Witte,” said Alistair. “Said she wouldn’t answer to anything but.”  
“You two are insufferable,” Althea huffed, but it was with a grin, and Alistair and Witte shouldered her between them.  
“We’ve known Alfie here since she was in training,” Witte informed me. “Saved her pretty pretty ass a few times too.”  
“It was before that young upstart Levitt,” Alistair added, ruffling Althea’s hair fondly. “Yep. Alfie Fox was our trainee for awhile.”  
“Worst days as an Auror,” Althea grumbled, cuffing Alistair and Witte lightly on their heads.  
“Well you all relive the glory days, I’m going to go fetch some tea. Preferably the one with the most caffeine. Want some?”  
“Please,” Witte said, gesturing at all three.  
“I’ll be right back.” I waved at Althea that she didn’t have to follow, thinking to myself as I left that between the presence of George, Alistair and Witte, she was looking the least tense I had ever seen her. George. I would have to get him tea as well.  
Luckily, the tearoom on the top floor wasn’t crowded, and I paid for the five cups of tea and carried them back down. All of the Aurors gathered outside the door happily accepted their cups with hearty thanks. George stuck his head in to check on Cousin Magnus as we finished.  
“I’ll take the cups,” he volunteered. I have to go tell Potter that Rowan Magnus has arrived.  
“We should go check on the press,” Althea sighed, and I agreed. We were nearly at the end of the hallway when I slapped my forehead.  
“Damn, I left my notebook.” There it was, on the floor beside Alistair. He picked it up with a grin.  
“Can’t be forgetting things, oh master of the press,” he said with a grin, making to toss it to me. Only it never reached my hands, because then an explosion rocked the corridor. The concussive force of the blast threw us down, making the lights in the ceiling flicker and sway and a fine layer of dust to seep from the walls. I smashed my head off a doorframe, and my vision swam as I tried to sit up. Althea, who had been further from the blast, had already scrambled up.  
“Alistair! Witte!” she moaned as she lurched unsteadily down the corridor toward the motionless bodies of the Aurors. “No . . .”  
There were people running towards us, shouting, barking orders that I was still too groggy to comprehend. I managed to pull myself up into a sitting position by clutching the doorframe as green robed healers converged on the motionless forms of Alistair and Witte, and George and Weasley charged through what had been the door to Elsie Lloyd’s room. I lost track of events for a moment as I tried to stand and my vision went black, and when my sight cleared again, Albus Potter was crouched in front of me.  
“No, don’t move.” He took my wrist, checking my pulse, then gingerly felt around the back of my head. His hand came away sticky with blood. “Damn. Okay. I’m going to help you up. Can you move your feet?” I nodded, then instantly regretted it as pain shot through my head.  
“Are you asking me to dance?” It came out slurred and most likely with a stupid grin, but Albus smiled a tiny smile anyway.  
“We’ll call it an open invitation. Three, two, one.” He hoisted me up, wrapping his arm around my waist again as he half carried, half dragged me down the corridor. Up ahead, Alistair and Witte were being loaded onto stretchers, and Althea was pulling herself up the wall. Weasley and George exited Lloyd’s room, looking grim, and Healer Willoughby followed. George was at Althea’s side in the next instant, helping her up.  
“Miss Lloyd is dead.” Weasley looked thunderous. “Levitt, are you positive that was the cousin?”  
“Here’s his picture,” George produced a folded photograph from his pocket, and both Althea and I peered at it.  
“That’s definitely the man who went in,” I slurred, and Weasley spared a concerned glance at me. “Fox?”  
“That’s him.”  
“Time to go visit Rowan Magnus’s residence then.”  
“Wait,” I said, head throbbing. Weasley swung around to look at me, “isn’t he in there?”  
“No. There’s only one set of remains, and it’s Lloyd’s” Weasley said. “Levitt, let’s go.” George cast a worried look at Althea, but followed Weasley.  
“Auror Fox, I presume,” Albus cut into the hollow silence following Weasley and George’s departure. “Would you please help me move Miss Shepard to an exam room?” The eyes that Althea turned on us were nothing short of distraught, and I wondered just how badly this case was affecting her. As we turned from the hallway, several Healers and MLEs rushed past us. Albus and Althea were helping me through a doorway when Jude Edgecombe appeared in the corridor.  
“Shepard! Brief me!”  
“Explosion,” I slurred. “Boom.” My head ached, and suddenly I was gasping for breath. The next thing I knew, I was on an exam table with Albus Potter mending a gash in my head. Edgecombe and Althea were talking quietly by the door, and as my vision cleared, I saw him nod and hurry out.  
“I did your job for you.” Althea paced the room, wincing slightly on occasion, and looking damn close to falling apart.  
“Thanks.” I was worried for her. With George gone, though I didn’t know what to say. “Althea . . .”  
“He was here. He did this.” She swung on me, eyes glowing with fury. “He killed my mother, and now Alistair and Witte. The bastard!”  
The epithet hung heavy in the air, none of us knowing what to say. I stared at Albus, lost. Finally, he moved forward.  
“Miss Fox, I need you to stay here and make sure Miss Shepard doesn’t move nor go to sleep. She has a concussion, and can’t be left alone. I will go check on the other aurors, and I will be right back. Miss Fox?” Althea nodded angrily.  
“Go,” she muttered, resuming her pacing. Albus caught my eye before slipping out of the room.  
“Althea,” I tried again.  
“Please don’t,” she muttered brokenly. She fixed her eyes on the side of my head and drew her wand, moving out of my line of sight. With a muttered charm, I felt her cleaning the blood from my head.  
“Well, if you need to talk, I’m here.”  
We waited silently for Albus to return, and after a few moments, Althea perched on the edge of the table with me, her hand lightly brushing mine. Needing the comfort as she did, I didn’t move. That was how Albus found us ten minutes later.  
“They’re not dead.”  
“Thank Merlin!” Althea couldn’t stop her relief.  
“Seriously injured,” Albus cautioned, “but not dead. They’ve been taken to the emergency ward for observation. Now, Miss Shepard, I’m to get you cleaned up so you can go home.”  
“The press . . .”  
“Is being handled rather skillfully by Mr. Edgecombe as we speak.” Albus’s eyes twinkled. “Of course, nowhere near as skillfully as you, but beggars can’t be choosers. There you go.” He held out a hand to help me off the table, and I took it, leaning rather heavily on his arm until I found my balance. “Miss Fox?”  
“Yeah, I got her.” Gently, Althea took my arm. “Thanks, Potter.”  
“Anytime.” His smile was genuine. “Now, to avoid the press, it’s probably better that you don’t go out the front. Miss Shepard, you shouldn’t sleep tonight, and no alcohol for awhile. If your headache comes back, Floo here immediately.” With that, he led us into the hall. Althea began leading me toward the back of the hospital, her arm looped through mine, but I dragged my feet.  
“No. We can’t run away. Besides, I want to know they’re behaving for Edgecomb.” Althea sighed, but changed direction.  
“Ready?” She wanted to know as we neared the lobby.  
“Ready,” I affirmed, disentangling my arm and stepping out. Edgecomb and Turner stood in the lobby, surrounded by reporters. There seemed to be more now that the news of the explosion had travelled. Obviously, they had been told the reasons behind my replacement with Edgecombe because they now swarmed around Althea and I. She hovered at my back, close enough to catch me if I fell but far enough to not raise suspicion about my balance. To my surprise, they remembered what I had told them.  
“Miss Shepard, are you alright?” It was Burt Sanders, the same reporter from earlier.  
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you. I just wanted to make sure you were behaving for Mr. Edgecombe here.” That drew a chuckle, and Althea and I moved over to where Jude and Turner were standing. “Sorry for leaving you here,” I apologized to Edgecombe, but he shook his head.  
“Feel better, sweetheart,” he said sympathetically, patting my back.


	6. In Which Althea Walks Me Home

I felt a bit self conscious as I let Althea into my apartment. “You don’t have to stay,” I sighed, but she shook her head.

“Not getting rid of me that easy, Lena.”

“You don’t want to be alone either.” She didn’t answer that, and I didn’t push, grateful for the sense of security that having a fully trained Auror around gave. She settled me on the couch before poking around my tiny apartment, checking my wards. Apparently satisfied, we embarked on the journey of making tea when there was a loud crack and India landed on my bed.

Althea was up, wand in hand as India raised her head.

“Who are you?” She growled at the same time India raised her hands.

“Whoa, Lena, what’s going on?”

“Whoa, no. Althea, it’s my best friend. Althea, India. India, Althea. No wands, please.” Althea stuffed her wand back into her jeans, still looking on edge, and India similarly was eying her with discomfort.

“Lena, why’s there a guard dog in your apartment?” Althea glared and I sighed.

“Right now, I’m declaring a truce. There will be no fighting between you.” India would calm easily, but I knew only one person who would make Althea relax. “Althea, do you have a way to contact George?”

“Yes.” She looked grateful for the out, stalking over to the kitchen for some sort of privacy.

“Okay, Lena, what is going on here?” India was next to me in an instant. I sighed.

“Long day at work?” I tried with a grimace. India folded her arms. “Um, explosion at St. Mungos.” India frowned, digesting that.

“You had better start from the beginning,” she warned, “just as soon as you sit down. You look as though you’re about to fall over.” She swatted my hand away from the tea. “Go!”   
Sinking gratefully into the couch, I told my best friend something that sounded much like what I would tell the press. Both Althea and India sensed this but remained silent, sipping their tea. India’s eyes widened as I told her about the explosion.

“Jesus Christ, Magdalena,” she sighed when I was done. “I leave you alone for a day . . .”

“Technically, I wasn’t alone,” I pointed out, and Althea shot me a glare.

“Thanks.” She and India shifted uncomfortably before Althea remembered something. “You did disappear for awhile. After our meeting with Healer Willoughby when I was talking to George.”

“Wasn’t alone,” I mumbled, and India narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to speak before I cut her off. “I was with Albus Potter.”

“Albus Potter.” India echoed.

“Yes, Healer Potter.”

“So that’s why he was so eager to help when you got concussed.” Althea sounded like she was piecing together a puzzle, one I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the implications of.

“He was being kind.”

“Hmm,” Althea hummed, and I glared at her, but her expression was perfectly neutral.

“Did he remember you from school?” India wanted to know.

“Vaguely. Why would he? He was a year older and in a different house. Just cause we knew Scorpius and Rose . . .”

“Point taken,” India sighed, and we lapsed again into an uncomfortable silence in which I stared at the blank television and India and Althea, still not sure of each other, avoided eye contact.

“Lena!” India suddenly said, making us all jump a little, though Althea was most successful at pretending she hadn’t. “There’s blood on your clothes!” I looked down.

“Hmmm. There is.” I just couldn’t summon the energy to fix it, trying to remember if it was my own or Alistair and Witte’s. 

“Come here,” India sighed, pulling me gently off the couch and letting me lean on her as we hobbled to the bed. She pulled clean jeans and a sweatshirt from my drawers and shoved me into the bathroom. “Rinse off and put these on. You’ll feel loads better.”

Once I was dressed to relative satisfaction, and feeling a tiny bit better, I reentered the other room to discover not much had changed. India was explaining television to an enthralled Althea, and their apparent truce was more than a small relief. Then there was a bang in the hallway, and Althea sprang up, wand ready and tension racing back into every line of her body. A second later, one of my neighbors began cursing out his roommate for dropping a book, and Althea sunk back down.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” India decided. “I have no doubt that your guard dog is always uptight, but this is excessive.” Althea flashed her a predatory grin, and India rolled her eyes, pulling me closer so that she could comb my wet hair.

“Later,” I sighed.

India had worked my hair into a braid and was trying to get Althea to let her do the same when there was a knock on the door and she was moving toward it, wand raised.

“Who is it,” I called, not bothering to move.

“George,” a tired voice answered. “Thea, let me in.”

“Thea,” India snickered, ignoring Althea’s glare.

“Only George is allowed to call her that,” I whispered conspiratorially, ignoring the way Althea’s glare turned on me before she let George in. He sauntered into my apartment, conferring quietly   
with Althea. She nodded, appearing satisfied with whatever he had just said.

“We visited the cousin’s house,” he turned to me, looking grim. “Potter wants to know if you’ll come in . . . hello.” He had finally noticed India. “How much does she know?”

“Enough to know that the cousin who wasn’t the cousin blew up St. Mungo’s. But I can plug my ears and hum if it makes you feel better.”

“Okay.” George spared an odd look at her before looking back to me. “So?”

“Well, it’s not like I was getting any sleep tonight anyway,” I sighed, shoving myself off the couch. India steadied me.

“Be careful,” she instructed. “No more getting hurt!”

“Yes, mother,” I grumbled, but hugged her anyway. When I looked up, it was to find Althea and George engrossed in their own little conversation by the door.

“Um, let me fix your hair.” India stood to mess with my already braided hair to give them a little privacy. “So, how long have they been together?” She whispered as soon as she was level with my ear. I snuck a furtive look; George’s hand was on Althea’s shoulder.

“Not even together.”

“No!” India was scandalized. “I’ve known them for all of five minutes and even I can see the chemistry! What are they waiting for, a bleeding invitation!”

“Perhaps,” I snickered. “Would you like to be the one to hand it to them?”

“Would I ever,” she snorted as George pulled Althea into a hug. India grumbled. When he released Althea, George turned to us.

“Ready?” He asked finally.

“Bye, India.” She apparated away, still grumbling, and George glanced at Althea, shocked.

“Did you not check the wards? Thea!”

“Calm,” I told them, halting whatever would have come out of Althea’s mouth. “She’s the only one I made a hold for. Althea, they appear intact to everyone but me.”

“Nice, Ravenclaw.”

“I’d like to think so.”


	7. Chapter 7

We arrived at the Ministry, meeting the exceedingly grim Potter, Weasley and Price almost immediately.

“Real cousin’s dead. We found traces of Polyjuice,” Weasley grumbled. I nodded.

“Untraceable?”

“As far as we could tell. Still, we sent some off to be tested.” Goldstein came in, handing Potter a stack of parchment.

“I was looking for Ministry records on the cousin and found this. He was a janitor in the Department of Mysteries before being fired for incompetence. After that . . .” But I had just remembered something, scrambling for the case file of Cythera Clapham.

“Lena,” George said excitedly as I flipped frantically through the file. “Lena, D.M.”

“Here.” I handed the photo to Potter of Cythera’s erstwhile intestines forming those very letters. “D.M.” I confirmed.

“Found our bloody lead,” Potter said, though he didn’t look terribly pleased. “Go.” We all turned to go, Goldstein and George hurrying off to the Department of Mysteries. “Fox, Shepard.” Althea and I froze. “The two of you get to look through the Hall of Records.” I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but given Althea’s mutinous look, I assumed it meant nothing good, especially given her habitual stoicism.

“Sir, there’s hundreds of years of records down there, and nearly as many years of dust. And we’re dealing with Mysteries, so they probably have their own records which we’ll never get access to.”

“Fox, we’re already looking for a needle in a haystack, looking for an unknown item in a smuggling ring that somehow links back to those tight lipped bastards at Mysteries. Maybe you can find . . .”

“The anomaly,” I mused. “Whatever this person’s killing for was likely stolen from Mysteries, so there should be some kind of record of it, assuming Mysteries reported it to any other department. Like MLE?”

“This girl needs a raise,” Weasley mumbled to no one in particular, and I smiled tiredly, since I never object to money.

“Scoot,” Potter shooed us out. “Try not to get eaten by the dust bunnies.”

With these ominous words and Althea’s thunderous glare, we headed to the basement.

“Are those real?” I wondered aloud. “Magical dustbunnies who eat hapless Ministry employees?”

“You had better hope not,” Althea growled, hauling open the enormous door, and I realized why she had been so reluctant.

“Holy mother,” I moaned. Althea couldn’t even dignify that with a glare as we surveyed the literal mountains of parchment.

I don’t know how long we were down there, because there were no windows, only that a redhead poked her head in sometime later.

“You’re still here?” She sounded surprised. “Uncle Harry said he sent you down here ages ago.” Ahh, a Weasley. I racked my exhausted brain trying to figure out which one. “I’m Dominique.” She surveyed the room, hands on hips, and a stunning grin split her lips. Part Veela, I remembered vaguely. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

Hours ago, we’d decided that we weren’t getting anywhere in this century if we didn’t at least separate the paper by department. None of the charms we’d tried had worked, and any magic directed at the mountains of parchment had only resulted in dust storms being hurled our way. So we had begun to shift the piles, and for our own clarification, there were now signs that read things like “Magical Treehuggers and Glorified Animal Control,” “International Snobs and Dumbasses,” and “Immature Prats Who Haven’t Outgrown Their Quiddich Fantasies.” (The Depts. Of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, International Magical Cooperation, and Games and Sports, respectively.)

“I’m here to spring you. Report to Uncle . . . I mean, Mr. Potter.”

Althea pulled me up, and we staggered toward the door. Dominique’s smile wavered.

“Are you okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“Your face.” She touched my cheek gently, and I winced. “There’s a rainbow of a bruise across your temple.”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.” We hurried to the Auror office, looking, I’m certain, beautiful. Potter frowned when he saw us.

“I’d hoped you’d gone home.” He took off his own cloak. “Find anything?” I sneezed in response, dislodging a cloud of dust from my clothes. “Jesus, Fox, how long have the two of you been up?” Thinking hurt, so I was glad when Althea answered.

“Well, you called us to Mungo’s at 4 a.m. yesterday,” she mused. “And it’s 8 a.m. today, so . . .”

“28 hours. I don’t want to see either of you until tomorrow morning.” We did not argue.

My mirror barely recognized me under all of the dust.

“Sweetheart, your face! And your clothes!” Mrs. Gardiner cried despairingly. “Have you been rolling in dust?”

“Something like that.”

“Your eyes! Such bags!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gardiner.”

Exhausted, I collapsed onto the bed, dust and all, but sleep proved impossible. Every time I closed my eyes, explosions and intestines chased through my dreams, and I’d jerk upright. Finally, as I caught myself fighting smothering sheets in a semi-unconscious effort to escape the visions which haunted me, I gave up sleep and hauled myself into shower. Once I was clean (and had cast a strong cleaning charm at my bed) I felt better. Hugging Vermeer to me, I finally fell asleep, dreaming of the kind, honest smile of Albus Potter.  
When I woke again, India was sitting on my couch.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Long night?”

“You have no idea.” She handed me a cup of tea and plate of semi-burnt toast. “Aww, you made me breakfast in bed?”

“What can I say? I have my moments.”

“You surely do.” It was 8 p.m. and I had a gratifyingly long time before I had to be back at work, thankfully.

“So, tell me what you couldn’t yesterday. Albus Potter?”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“Really? He must be pretty nice to send you this.” She held up a letter. “A strange owl brought this for you.”

“India, give it to me.”

“Eh, I don’t know. I haven’t read it yet, but I’m sure it’s fascinating.” I growled at her, and she grinned, perching on the end of the bed and handing the letter to me. “Okay.”

I slit the seal, appreciating the messy scrawl that apparently characterized doctors in both the Muggle and magical worlds.

“Dear Lena,” I read aloud to appease my best friend, “How are you holding up?” India huffed, bouncing in anticipation, and I skimmed. “He wants to know if I’d like to have lunch with him someday.” India grinned.

“Well of course you would.”

“India, he’s my boss’s son who held my hair as I puked. Would that not be just the slightest bit awkward?”

“Puking?” India’s eyes narrowed. “You said nothing about puking.” I told her a very abbreviated version of the story.

“India, I told you he was just being kind.” She snorted.

“Sweetheart, I have no doubt that he’s a kind person, but even Healers aren’t that kind. Plus, he asked you to lunch.”

“Maybe.” I pulled myself out of bed, suddenly needing to use the bathroom badly. I emerged to find a grinning India closing the window that she had just let an owl out of. “What was that?”

“I took the opportunity to accept for you. You, my dear, have a lunch date. With Albus Potter.” I stared at her for a moment incredulously, grabbing for my tea and taking a swig to keep myself from swearing at her. India chuckled, looking entirely unrepentant.

“I hate you.”

“Tell me that again after your date, and maybe I’ll believe you.”

“No really, India, he’s my boss’s son. Do you know what happens when the new girl starts dating the boss’s son?”

“A few nasty rumors about sleeping your way to the top before everyone gets tired of that gossip and moves onto something new?”

“Exactly, only it sticks around like a bloody scarlet letter and resurrects itself whenever there’s nothing else to gossip about. India, I cannot be that girl!”

“Well, whatever you decide, you can say it to Albus Potter’s face, cause the letter’s gone.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Morning, Shepard. Catch up on sleep?” Potter was wide awake. Weasley was chugging a cup of something which I guessed to be highly caffeinated.

“Yep. Find anything?”

“For all that we have our link, no. Mysteries, surprisingly, does not like to share.”

“And surveillance fell through too,” Weasley grumbled.

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” I told Potter, staring curiously at Weasley. “Who specifically were you watching? Who did you send?”

They ignored that, Potter plowing on. 

“Dom can’t help. Even if she was allowed to, she wouldn’t be able to tell us much.”

“So we’re waiting for him to strike again?”

“Basically,” Potter said, looking like he was not at all pleased by the thought.

“What do we feel like telling the press?”

“That we’re following up on all of our leads and narrowing down our suspect list. Comforting stuff like that.”

“Perfect. I’ll start on your speech right away. They’re getting antsy- it’d be best if you called a conference for this afternoon before their b.s. runs wild.” I paused. “Wilder.”

“Good,” Potter nodded, looking amused. As I turned to go, I bumped into a tall, blond man who grinned down at me.

“Sorry . . .Scorp!” I was swept into a huge hug. “How’ve you been?”

“Not bad. Just finished a mission, actually.” He handed a report to Weasley. “Sir.”

“Hogwarts?” Potter asked, studiously ignoring the tension between Scorp and Weasley, and so I strove to as well.

“Ravenclaws are taking over the Aurors, I guess,” Scorpius said lightly, looking away from Weasley’s stare. So, he still wasn’t over Rose and Scorp dating, then.

“Huh. Okay, Ravenclaw. You have ten hours before I want you back.”

“You going to see Rosie?” I whispered as soon as we were out the door. Scorpius gave me his best ‘duh’ look and took off. I headed for my desk, waving at George and Althea, who were sifting through a stack of files, though there was noticeably more tension between them than normal, and not the sexual kind.

“Hey, are you guys okay?”

“Fine,” Althea said shortly.

“That’s the problem,” George muttered, looking uncharacteristically furious.

“Okaay.” I left it at that and got the heck out of there.

My speeches were halfway written when I got another surprise.

“Hey,” a voice said from behind me. “Miss Shepard.” I spun to find Al.

“Hey yourself!” I quickly turned a grimace into a grin. “What’s up?” Al chuckled.

“Well, I was here to see my dad- he asked me to look into that explosive.”

“Find anything?” I asked, annoyed at myself for not being properly relieved that he hadn’t come to see me.

“Hopefully. It’s rare enough that it should be of some help.”

“Good.” He peered over my shoulder.

“Whatcha writing?”

“Speeches for your dad and uncle.”

“Brilliant! Make them say something embarrassing! If you want, I could give you some pretty great blackmail material.” At my look, he grinned. “Kidding. You’re going to have your work cut out for you though, making sure Uncle Ron doesn’t say something embarrassing on his own. But I stopped by to see if you were free for lunch tomorrow?” I hesitated, looking at the exuberant grin on his face and weighing it against vicious gossip.

“Definitely.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that India had replied for me, especially not when his grin lit up something in my chest.

“Good. Pick you up around noon?” At my nod, he stood from his crouch. “Well, then I’ll let you get back to work.” I waved, unable to repress the slightly idiotic grin on my face, and Albus disappeared around the corner.

“Chocolate and firewhiskey my fluffy white beard,” Wren muttered, passing me. “It’s the wee Potter that she loves more than me.”

“Your beard’s not fluffy,” I pointed out. Wren just shot me a wounded puppy look and stalked off, clutching his heart.

“You and Potter’s kid.” Proudfoot was next. “Boss know yet?”

“Maybe? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it’s lunch, not a proposal.”

“Tell the boy he had better get you a nice rock on that ring when he gets around to proposing.” Proudfoot sauntered off just as I was getting ready to hex him. A memo collided with the back of my head and I sprang up, wand raised and glowering, until I realized it was just a memo that I was ready to murder. My neighbors looked decidedly amused at me. I snatched the memo. The Prophet would be present at the conference, and would The Quibbler, Witch Weekly, and a few others. Ron Weasley had better behave himself was all that I could think.

A total of ten reporters managed to jam themselves into the conference room where I had been interviewed. Which would not have been terrible except that cameras made everything seem smaller, and we also had Potter, Price, Weasley, Althea and Goldstein as well as Ms. Marchbanks and Edgecombe, who had assured me they were there only to assert how thoroughly they trusted the Aurors to fix everything.  
Potter gave his speech perfectly. When I had written it, I had counted on his serious, ‘I am your savior’ tone. And he preformed it perfectly. Ms. Marchbanks went right after him, affirming her support of the Aurors, and even the reporters, sowers of tales of death and destruction, were nodding enthusiastically. And then Weasley stomped to the podium. All of my hopes and dreams went soaring out the window.

“Hi. I’m Ron Weasley. I . . .” He broke off, glaring at where I was sitting on the wall with Edgecombe. “Do I really have to say this?” I nodded wildly, gesturing emphatically at the piece of parchment in his hand and glaring right back at him. He huffed ill-naturedly. “I am appalled at these apparently unmotivated killings. It has been a long time since the Wizarding World has had a serial killer acting on his or her own, and it is my personal ambition to see whoever this person is in Azkaban and further ensure the safety of the witches and wizards of Britain.”

“Nice speeches,” Edgecombe approved when the conference was over. Althea and Goldstein escorted the reporters out so that none of them got ‘lost’, and Potter hung back to converse with Marchbanks.

“Thanks,” I said calmly, though I may or may not have been glowing internally at the success of my first press conference. “I try . . .”

“Well go try back in the Hall of Records.” Potter caught the tail end of our conversation, and I sighed.

“Back to the mines.” Edgecombe tipped an imaginary hat to me and followed Marchbanks.

“Good work, by the way.” Potter’s approval was even more meaningful that Edgecombe’s, and the glow returned despite the impending dust bath. “I’ll send Fox down as soon as she’s done with reporter duty. Oh, Shepard. You busy in two weeks on Saturday?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“Perfect. The 30th Annual War Memorial Ball is that day, and I’d like you there. Also, the next day is the actual memorial day, so you should be there too.” Another few hours later, George interrupted Althea and I in the Hall.

“You’re free.”

“Thank you Lord.” Althea moaned as she stood ungracefully, avoiding George’s eyes as she stretched. The movement caused her t-shirt to   
ride up, and I watched, amused, as George froze in the doorway, transfixed by the strip of exposed skin. “You’ve seen me in less,” she snapped when she caught him. “Stop staring.” I nearly choked, slipping out past George as I decided it was a very good time to be elsewhere. A loud argument followed me out, the increasingly muted words following me down the stone corridor. 

The next day I was jumpy, something that only got worse as noon approached. Word had spread that Al Potter was taking me to lunch, and Aurors I didn’t even know were finding excuses to wander past my cubicle and stare. Noor Siddiqui and Maisie Swansea, from Edgecombe’s lunch group, had accosted me in the Atrium on my way up.

“Is it true?” Maisie demanded.

“I’m sorry?” Momentarily I was caught off guard.

“You, dating a Potter?” I sighed, aware of the eyes on us.

“He asked me to lunch. That’s all.” Noor clicked her tounge at me, seizing my arm and hauling me a little farther from the morning crowd.

“You know what the rumor mill is doing to you, correct?”

“I have an inkling, yes.”

“Good. Then you’re a little smarter than I thought. Not smart enough to avoid dating your boss’s son, but a little better. It’s not only that he’s your boss’s son; it’s also the fact that he’s a Potter. The nice Potter.”

“I know.”

“You should be slapped upside the head,” Maisie muttered, but tugged fondly at a curl instead. “Well, know that we’re running interference   
as much as we can, but it’s going to be nasty for awhile.”

“Thanks.” I was awarded with twin smiles as Maisie and Noor merged back into the morning crowd of Ministry employees.

Eyes followed me as I boarded the lift, and hurried down the hallway to the Aurors office.

“Dating Boss’s son,” Proudfoot and Goldstein apparently had nothing better to do, nor did they feel the need to invent an excuse.

“Lunch, Proudfoot, it’s lunch.” He ignored me entirely. 

“Should we give him the old fashioned ‘you hurt her you die’ speech?” He wondered aloud.

“NO!!”

“Nah,” Goldstein said mournfully. “Boss’s son. Can’t very well threaten the bugger.”

“Thank the lord.”

“Damn,” said Proudfoot cheerfully. “But we can glare menacingly when he shows up.”

“Oh for the love of all that is holy . . .”

“Glaring is definitely in,” Goldstein agreed. “Also doesn’t mean we can’t do nothing if he does hurt her.”

“Auror stealth training.” Jones appeared, tapping a finger to his nose. I threw up my hands. Then I spotted Althea hurrying in. I shot up from my seat.

“Althea!”

“Are they being mean? Poor baby,” she muttered. “Behave, boys.”

“Behave? Us?” Goldstein snorted. Proudfoot elbowed him. 

“What he means to say is that we’re wounded by the implications that we weren’t behaving.”

“Were you?” But Althea’s focus was on a messy head of hair strolling through the door at that moment. I raised an eyebrow at her behind everyone’s backs, and she resolutely did not meet my eyes. But then Al wandered in, hands tucked casually into the pockets of a faded pair of jeans . . .”

“Shepard!” Jones crowed. “It’s for you!” There went my moment. I snatched my purse and ducked around the group of imbeciles surrounding my desk.

“Behave, children,” Goldstein called. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t.” I huffed, trying to ignore the catcalls following us out, but Al simply   
looked amused. One look at his grinning face had me relaxing minutely, though I was hyperaware of the scores of eyes and whispers   
which accompanied us through the building.

“Like the jeans,” I told him as we joined the throng of Ministry employees going to lunch.

“Lily said they make my ass look big.” It was with complete and utter stupefaction that I stared at him.

“They make your ass look amazing!” was my first, unfortunate response. Albus dissolved into laughter as I tried to banish my blush and curb the impulse to give his beautiful ass a good pat. Which would be completely inappropriate. “I mean, I have to disagree with your sister.”

“I think that was a compliment,” Albus sobered minutely. There was still mirth shining in his green eyes, which was very attractive.

“It most certainly was, even though you were clearly fishing for one.”

“Fishing for . . .” Albus mock gasped, playing mortally offended. “It was an ice breaker! You looked ready to murder someone, and given that you were standing in an Auror office, that didn’t bode well for our first date. Beside that, I’d have to report you to my father.”

“You’d report me?” I batted my eyelashes at him as he led me out into Muggle London.

“Yes,” he sighed, “But I would also brave stormy seas and icy Dementors to break you out.”

“Albus Potter, you wouldn’t!”

“I would.” The twinkle was back in his eye, and very distracting. “It is rather difficult to have a lunch date in Azkaban.”

“Do you have first hand knowledge, Potter?”

“Maybe.” His expression was comically shifty as he led me into a restaurant. “Do you like Thai food?”

“Never tried it.”

“You. What?” He gaped at me, but recovered quickly. “Miss Shepard, then it is high time that this egregious offense was corrected. Allow me.” He helped me out of my coat and pulled out my chair.

Sometime over lunch, Hogwarts came up, as I had suspected it would.

“You were a Ravenclaw, correct?”

“One year below you.”

“No- I remember you. You hung out with Rosie and Scorp sometimes, but we never really talked.”

“Yeah, cause half the time you were pretending to study and be responsible and patching up your cousins, and the other half you were running from McGonagall with them.” He grinned, remembering.

“You ever miss those days?”

“Sometimes,” I answered truthfully. “I’ve only been out of school for a year though, so I haven’t had too much time to be nostalgic."

“It was like a giant sleepover with my cousins,” he sighed, a tad wistfully. He was horrified to discover that I was the only child of two only children and only had one remaining grandparent.

“It made for quiet holidays,” I told him as he gaped.

“That settles it,” he said as soon as he could speak. “You’re coming to a Weasley family dinner.”

Playing the perfect gentleman well, perfectly, Al returned me to the office as my allotted hour was drawing to a close.

“I’d like to thank you,” he whispered, pulling me up short just outside Consuela’s lobby. “I know it’s not easy doing anything publicly with   
a Potter.” Shocked cannot aptly describe me at that moment.

“Well, I mean . . .”

“But I really, really like you. And I had a fantastic time at lunch today. And I’d love it if you would come out with me again?”

Twirling a curl and trying to buy time, I stuttered a bit. Then Al leaned closer and took the curl from my fingers, twirling it around his own,   
and I nearly had a heart attack.

“What the hell. I’d love to go out with you again.”

After that, Al and I went to lunch as many days as he could get off work, and I introduced him to Edgecombe and the rest of the pub group. 

The first time we walked in, hand in hand, it went silent. As in pin drop silent.

“Hey, Wood!” I jumped a bit at Al’s greeting. The pub held it’s breath.

“Hey, Alby. Good to see you again, mate. Never thought I’d see you in here with all of us Ministry grunts.”

“It came with good recommendations and better company.” Al grinned easily, an expression mirrored on Wood’s face and the faces of many others. I relaxed, offering Wood a smile of my own. After a short conversation with him, we joined Edgecombe, periodically distracted as some of Al’s other friends or acquaintances approached to say their own hellos.

“Nicely done,” Noor nodded at me approvingly. “Rumors are always pruned by reminders that their subjects are nice human beings.”

It was a relatively quiet two weeks leading up to the ball, filled with mornings learning from Edgecombe and afternoons sifting through the Hall of Records or being loaned out to the ball’s planning committee, comprised of a variety of ministry employees headed by the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister, who was a rather unpleasant witch. As Noor had predicted, the rumors did die down, as, led by the pub’s lunch crowd, it was asserted that both Al and I were nice people. I still received a few glares and whispers, but I perceived them to mostly be of jealousy. Potter never mentioned it, and Weasley did nothing other than wink suggestively if he happened to see Al coming to get me for lunch.

It was after one of these days that Albus first kissed me. Althea was on some other assignment, and I was alone in the basement, and I jumped a bit when the door creaked open.

“Oh, hey Al,” I called, perched on a stack of parchment and reading another.

“Lena, I can’t even see you.” He squinted through the dim light of the basement, laughing at the still-hanging signs Althea and I had made. 

“Come here.” I sighed, sliding off the stack I was perched on and approaching him. His face split into the full grin I had come to love, and he produced a bouquet of daisies from behind his back.

“Oh, Al . . .” He pulled me into a kiss, chaste at first, but as soon as I responded, he nipped at my lip to deepen the kiss. “They’re beautiful,” I breathed as we broke apart for air.

“They’re for my favorite dust angel,” he grinned, twirling me as I laughed. But now that I had kissed him, I didn’t want to stop. “Does this mean you’re my girlfriend?” He asked as we left, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. I answered him with a sound kiss.

“Duh, silly.”

Sometimes, Scorp and Rose would ask me to dinner, which meant India and Lacey and Al and a few other schoolfriends got drunk at a pub. 

Everyone (except for Wren) seemed to approve of Al and I, including his father, also known as my boss, and he was always a perfect gentleman. Althea and George appeared normal again, and though I wondered what their fight had been about, I knew better than to ask.

To my eternal relief, my mother was so thrilled at the prospect of me attending the Memorial Ball that she whisked me off to find a dress immediately, something that she enjoyed infinitely more than me. Luckily, India volunteered to chaperone, which probably saved my hair from being torn out. But finally, we settled on a nice blue dress.

“I don’t need a spectacular dress,” I argued. “Mum, I’m there as the support team, not the main act. I need to look nice but blend in.”

“I don’t think Al would agree,” India whispered slyly, and I elbowed her.

And so, before I knew it, two weeks were gone and I was getting ready in India’s apartment with Lacey, who always went because of her father, Lee Jordan. It took a day of being poked and prodded, bathed and pinned before India declared us ready. She moonlighted as a make up artist, and we were shamelessly benefitting. She even raided her extensive jewelry collection for us.

“Can you match this?” I asked, holding up a small silver necklace that had been a graduation present from my grandmother. “I’d like to wear it tonight.” India scrutinized the thin silver chain and intricately woven heart pendant.

“Perfect!” she announced.

Finally satisfied, she held up the portkey we had been sent.

“Have fun,” India called. “Make good choices.” Lacey flipped her the bird as we spun away.


	9. In Which We Dance

Our portkey spun dizzyingly into existence at the gates to the Hogwarts castle, and I gasped at the lights. It had been awhile, and Al’s words about missing his days at Hogwarts came back into my head as I basked in the brilliant glow of the castle’s light.

The press of the crowd around me as well as Lacey’s voice shook me, and I moved forward.

“Lena!” But Lacey was moving farther away, pulled by the crowd, and I waved to reassure her, positive that we would meet up at the castle. 

The horseless carriages of my schooldays brought another wave of nostalgia, and I allowed myself to be handed into one of a crowd of   
elderly witches and wizards. I prepared myself for a quiet ride when a blond head poked around a rather portly man.

“Your aura is fantastic, dear!” The woman cried, and another head popped out from behind a woman’s large headdress as she continued. 

“Spectacular. You are a Libra, I believe?” I was bewildered; the rest of the carriage supremely superior, and I saw nothing to do except answer.

“Yes?” The woman’s brilliant yellow robes nearly blinded me as she leaned farther toward the man.

“Oh, Rolf, she’s wonderful.”

“Of course, Luna, dear. Now warn her about the Nargles.”

“Oh! Yes! Nargles, dear. You must be careful around the nargles.”

“Um, okay.” Luna peered at me again.

“Jimmy was present for your press conference, representing The Quibbler. Your presence was very impressive.”

“Thank you?” Thankfully the carriage rolled to a halt, and I was the first out. With slight desperation, I searched for Lacey, Weasley, Potter, or anyone I knew, really. And there was no one. As the carriage continued discharging the elderly witches and wizards who I had ridden with, Luna and Rolf caught up with me, Luna grabbing my hand.

“It really is lovely to meet you, dear. The Weasleys and Potters speak very highly of you. Here.” She shoved into my hand what appeared to be an elaborate charm. “We have been developing our wards against Nargles, and you will find it very helpful.” Rolf nodded earnestly at her side as she led me through the doors of the castle, and so I took the ugly little charm, wondering how exactly Lorcan and Lysander had turned out so relatively normal.

“Miss Shepard!” Potter and Weasley were in the receiving line just inside the door, and had apparently spotted me. Luna swept over to   
them, still clenching my arm. The look of desperate entreaty I sent Mr. and Mrs. Potter and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley caused Ron to snort.   
Hermione Weasley discreetly elbowed him, and Ron sobered quickly.

“Luna, Rolf, it’s so good to see you,” Mrs. Potter said warmly, holding open her arms. Luna dropped mine in order to give Ginny Potter a hug, and the woman took a place next to Hermione Weasley in my book of idols. Potter grinned at me as his wife began an animated conversation with Luna.

“I’m glad you made it,” he said. “Now, Hermione’s making sure, for the most part, that Ron doesn’t make an idiot of himself,” Weasley opened his mouth to protest but then shrugged and closed it again, “so you’re here on damage control. And also because I suspect my son would like to see you in that dress.” I flushed as Ginny Weasley winked at me. Luna had moved on to Hermione, and Mrs. Potter now turned her full attention to me.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you from both my son and husband, and I confess, I’ve been rather anxious to meet you.”

“Good things, I hope,” I said, shaking her hand.

“Anyone who can make my son smile like that and scare off the press in the same day is a good person in my book,” she assured me. 

“Now, last I saw of Al, he was in the Great Hall with his cousins.” I thanked her and hurried off before Luna could recapture my arm. The   
Great Hall had been emptied of its customary house tables, and instead was full only of people, with a refreshment table off to one side.   
Even in my heels, I was still short, and so I drifted around, keeping an eye out for red hair. A large cluster of it drew my eye.

“Lena!”

“Rosie!” Happily I hurried over to join my friend. “You look beautiful, as always.” Rosie blushed.

“As do you, so hush,” she grinned. “Did you just get here?”

“I did, and I met the Scamanders on the way in.”

“Ooh, Aunty Luna,” Rose smiled fondly. “What did she have to say today?”

“Well, she warned me off Nargles and gave me this,” I held up the charm, “and she told me I had a stunning aura.”

“I could have told you that,” said Al’s voice from behind me, and I spun to kiss him. He pulled back and took a long moment to look me up and down, a slow grin lighting his face that made me lightheaded, warmth building in my chest. “Hey, beautiful. You do look rather stunning tonight.”

“Not too shabby yourself, handsome,” I returned, straightening his tie.

“Oh, gross,” Rose groaned, rolling her eyes and turning to the nearest possible person she could commiserate with. “Rox, Al’s being icky. With a girl.”

“Alby? Can talk to girls? Well, color me surprised.” Roxanne turned to us with a smile. “Nice to see you, Lena.” Well, I didn’t know we were on first name terms. Though I knew all of the Weasleys from Hogwarts, vaguely, at least, other than Rosie, and perhaps Lucy, we had never really been friends. But if my boyfriend’s famous family was accepting me, then by all means, call me whatever you want. “Also,” Roxanne continued, slanting a stare at Rosie, “You’re not really one with any grounds to complain about being icky, Miss Rose. Don’t think we haven’t all caught you with Scorp at one point or another.”

“And that was a memory I never needed resurrected,” Albus muttered. Roxy spared him a smirk. “Why am I still talking to you?” he wondered aloud. “I have plenty of other, less abusive cousins. Louis, my man!” And so we went off to converse with other, just as abusive cousins.

“I’m sorry for my family,” Albus whispered later, as he pulled me close to dance with him. We swayed to the music.

“There’s no need to apologize for them,” I told him. “They’re all kind of wonderful.” Albus surveyed me.

“You really do like them?”

“I do,” I promised, and his face lit up. His family meant everything to him, and it would have killed him if I didn’t like them.

“Have I mentioned that you look splendid tonight?” he asked, kissing me again.

We proceeded to have a wonderful night. I found myself passed between dances with all of Albus’s male cousins and James and chats with whoever was around after the dance, finding that I was very much welcome into the Potter/Weasley family.

I was in the middle of a dance with Hugo, who I remembered mainly as Lily’s little troublemaking friend, and who I was delighted to find had finally matured, when a man cut in.

“I apologize, but might I dance with Miss Shepard a moment?” Hugo stared at me, and I stared back, shrugging slightly to indicate that I had no idea who the man was. Unfortunately, he also took that as an indication to hand me off to the strange man. And once he had, I found I couldn’t bow out, as Hugo moved back, bewildered, and the eyes of half of the Great Hall were fixed on the possibility of a scandal hanging over my head. Press liaisons don’ t create scandals. We put a positive spin on them. There was not much I could do other than survey the man in front of me and hope one of Al’s other relatives or Al himself came to rescue me, unless the man gave me an excuse to slap him.

He was late middle aged, with a very distinguished look to him. That really is the best word I can use to describe him. Potter had a good presence, but this man knew how to use it. His trim figure, neat salt and pepper hair, and expensive robes meant that he obviously had significant wealth at his disposal, but I couldn’t place him.

“I suppose I should introduce myself,” he said finally, his deep, enunciated voice shaking me from my reflection. “I am Quintus Maderno.”

“Magdalena Shepard.” There was silence before he laughed, seemingly completely at ease as he whirled me expertly around the floor.

“You are so tense, my dear. It would become you to relax a bit.”

“My apologies, but I do not believe we are acquainted.”

“Oh, weren’t. But we are now, and I hope to get to know you much better soon.” The words, while spoken in a friendly tone, still sent shivers down my spine that made him laugh again.

“Sir, I really am sorry, but . . .”

“I am too.” His uncanny gaze fixed solely on me, and I forced myself not to squirm uncomfortably under the intensity of it. The sound of clapping made him look up, and I immediately dropped contact with him. I made to step away, but his hands tightened on my waist and hand and his eyes travelled back to mine with an almost predatory hunger in them. “You have done admirably so far, darling, if that is any consolation.”

“It is not,” I all but spat, wrenching away from him and heading toward the nearest clump of red hair I could see. The heat of his eyes on my back followed me, though when I finally looked back, he was gone.

“What was that about?” Lucy asked curiously as I turned back to her conversation with Lorcan.

“I wish I knew,” I murmured, still feeling uncomfortable. For the remainder of the night I was jumpy, feeling phantom eyes on me that were not there when I turned to confront them.

“Are you alright?” Albus was whispering, wrapping a hand gently around my waist. “Do you want to go?”

“Did you see the man I was dancing with? Who cut into my dance with Hugo?”

“No, I didn’t. Why, was he handsome?” I couldn’t resist a small smile at Al’s easy grin, and cuffed him lightly.

“Not as handsome as you. Also, he creeped me out.”

“Who was it?” Al was instantly alert, and I tried to recall the name.

“Quintus Maderno?”

“Hmm,” Al hummed, thinking. “Don’t recognize the name off the top of my head. What did he do to make you uncomfortable?” But I never got the chance to tell him, because at that moment Harry Potter joined us. As soon as he faced us the cordial expression dropped from his face.

“There’s another victim,” he said quietly. “If you could get Scorpius and follow Ron and I to the doors subtly, that would be appreciated.”

“Of course,” I replied, heart sinking. I kissed Al’s cheek briefly and slipped off to find Scorpius, who was engrossed in Rose. “I’m really sorry to be interrupting whatever this was shaping up to be,” I told an annoyed Scorp and Rose, “But we have another victim, and we’re sneaking out so we don’t cause a panic.” Scorp looked more resigned now than annoyed, and he sighed.

“Give me a minute.”

“Just a minute,” I urged, ducking back around the corner of where I had found them. I watched as Al nodded to his father and Potter turned, heading for the doors. As promised, Scorp joined me a minute later, straightening his clothes, and we casually wandered in the direction of the doors as well, seemingly deep in conversation to prevent distractions. Al squeezed my hand as we passed.

“Be careful,” he whispered, something in his green eyes that I didn’t have time to place as we continued to the doors.  
Weasley, Potter, and Price were waiting outside when we joined them.

“Ready?” Potter asked grimly, and we climbed into a carriage.

“Murder victim number four was found not ten minutes ago,” Price reported grimly. “The victim wasn’t dead when the attacker left, and he managed to call for help before he died. Fortunately, neighbors called us. Same M.O. as all of the other victims, as far as preliminary reports have discerned, though we’ve only just arrived on the scene.”

“Thank you, Price,” Potter said dully. “I didn’t get a chance to mention it earlier, but you both look very nice tonight.” Price and I exchanged appraising looks, coming to the conclusion that yes, we both did look rather fetching tonight.

“Thank you, sir,” Price said, not batting an eyelash. “I find that if I dress up every once in a while, it shocks everyone who forgot I was female.” Weasley choked. Scorp seemed to be turning red with the effort of not laughing.

“Do you know what a high-five is?” I asked, not bothering to hold back my own laugh. Archana Price held up her hand, and we did a perfect high-five.

The crime scene looked eerily as the others had, a dingy flat in a disreputable neighborhood. This time, I made it into the building, following the others in and cursing the fact that I was still in my blue ball gown and heels. Price was having no such qualms, striding after Potter as though she were in her everyday work attire and ignoring the second glances angled at her by all the Aurors we passed in the hallway. I was having more trouble doing the same, ducking my head and blushing as they grinned appreciatively. Wren mimed a wolf whistle and Goldstein clapped. Althea and George joined us on the way through the hall, falling in beside me.

“Very nice,” Althea approved, and George shot me a small smile.  
Proudfoot and Jones were inside the apartment as we entered, and I distantly wondered if it was actually a good thing that the sight of the intestines arranged in their letters didn’t make me want to hurl immediately (though I was still decidedly nauseous).

“Tobias Tabor,” Jones introduced. “Identical M.O. except for this. We found it in the victim’s hand.” Potter, Weasley and Price all leaned closer to peer at the object, and once they had looked their fill, they handed it back to Althea.

“A necklace?” She asked, puzzled. “Did the neighbors say anything about Tabor having a girlfriend?” She peered dubiously at Tabor’s rather ungainly visage. The thin silver chain looked familiar.

“Move your hand a bit, Althea? I want to see the pendant.” And then I caught my breath, my hands instantly flying to my neck. “That’s my necklace.” The room froze as everyone stared at me.

“Say that again,” Weasley told me, eyes narrowed, and I took a deep breath.

“That’s my necklace. I was wearing it at the ball.” My hands fell from my neck. “I didn’t even notice it was gone.”

“Fox, run it for traces,” Potter commanded, moving to my side. “Anything strange you remember from the ball?”

“Quintus Maderno,” I pronounced with absolute certainty, pieces sliding together in my head. All of the taunts, the remark about me having done admirably so far . . . “Potter, he’s the one.”

“Go,” Potter shot over my head to Jones and Wren. Then to me, “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” I assured him.

“I remember seeing his name,” Althea interjected suddenly. “On some of the Mysteries records we were able to track down. He left the Ministry twenty years ago, around the time of . . .” she trailed off, and Price filled in the blank.

“Your mother’s murder.”

“This is all helping with the implication,” Potter approved. “Keep going.”

“It wasn’t clear on the public record whether he was fired or if he retired,” she continued, her voice just the slightest bit wavery. George leaned almost imperceptible against her shoulder from behind and she continued. “I was curious, and did a bit more digging. His departure from Mysteries coincided with the attempted theft of a still unknown item, which was later traced to Rowan Magnus, who has ties to Circe’s Sorrows through his niece, Elsie Lloyd.”

“So, this is speculation,” Potter said slowly, “but Maderno wanted to steal something from Mysteries and hired Magnus and Tabor to do it so he wouldn’t be implicated. But somewhere along the line, it got bungled, and whatever it was passed through Elsie and possibly Cythera into the smuggling ring before being lost for twenty years. Well, at any rate, we finally have enough that the bastards from Mysteries can’t stall us anymore. Levitt, take Shepard and Fox back to the Hall of Records, then go with Price. Fox, I want to be able to shove that piece of parchment in Mysteries’ faces. You and Shepard stay in the office, see what else you can dig up. Price, do what you have to to prise the evidence out of Mysteries’ grubby little hands.” With our marching orders, the four of us left the apartment and Apparated back to the Ministry.   
The trek down to the Hall of Records in the basement seemed longer, somehow, as we all made it in silence. George heaved open the door, and I went to help Althea find the parchment. She emerged with it a second later, placing it triumphantly in Price’s hands, and the woman smiled grimly.

“Well, Levitt, this ought to be fun.”

“Depends on your definition of the word,” George muttered, following Price to the door. “Althea, be safe. Please just go back to the office. Please don’t do anything stupid.” There was true begging in his eyes as he stared at her, and she finally nodded.

“I’ll be a good little girl and go straight back to the office as Potter told us.”

“We will,” I confirmed, as George’s gaze slid over me. He nodded, and was gone. “We will, right?” I turned to Althea, who let the heavy door slam shut behind us. “Cause I’m grabbing on if you try to Apparate anywhere, and my mum’d kill me if I ruined this dress.” She spared an amused look at my dress, and started down the hallway.

“Really, we’re following Potter’s orders.” We were silent as we took the now familiar path from the Ministry basement up to the Auror office, but the subterranean corridors seemed impossibly darker tonight. Granted, we had never been down here at midnight, but still. And then the back of my neck prickled, the heat of watching eyes on my back as I had felt at the ball. I whirled, grabbing Althea’s arm, but the corridor was empty.

“Come on,” she muttered, holding her wand at her side and picking up her pace. “Do you have your wand on you?” I nodded, pulling it out of the folds of my skirt, and Althea nodded her approval. “Keep it in your hand.”  
I was more than willing to do that as we approached the lift that would take us up, but at the last second Althea grabbed my wrist.

“Stop!” She cried, yanking me back. I had barely enough time to see what she had, a benignly twinkling mist stretched across the entrance to the lift before the light of spells filled the air, and Althea cried out.

“Althea!” She was on the ground, writhing in agony, and I kept my wand raised as I squinted into the dim corridor. “Where are you, you bastard? What did you hit her with?”

“Such language,” a voice tutted from behind me as arms suddenly wound, vicelike, around my torso. “Not becoming to a lady such as yourself.”

“Maderno,” I spat, struggling to get my wand into a position to hex him. He laughed, and it vanished from my hand.

“I told you we would be getting better acquainted,” he cooed in my ear, and I shuddered.

“And if I told you I didn’t want to . . .”

“I would tell you that you didn’t have much say in the matter.” His coo now held an edge of steel. “Goodnight, my dear.”


	10. In Which the Day is Saved

The next thing I knew, I was waking up on a cold floor, shivering still in my blue dress. As I gathered my consciousness, I took a quick inventory of my surroundings. Dark, no natural light sources, probably underground. I had control of my limbs, but they were bound. My eyes adjusted slowly, and I was the wall I was sitting against, as well as the opposite wall, maybe nine feet away, where Althea was bound. Her head was still slumped down, and I could see a trickle of blood already at her temple.

“Althea.” There was no reaction. “Althea!” I hissed a bit louder. She moaned something unintelligible, and shifted, the motion causing her head to dislodge from against her shoulder, and she jerked awake with the motion.

“Lena?” Her voice sounded groggy, and I wondered what exactly he had hit her with. “Alright?”

“Well enough,” I replied. “What about you?”

“Good for now,” she slurred in a way that made me believe that her stoicism was speaking instead of her. “What happened?”

“I captured both of you in the very halls of the Ministry is what happened,” Maderno’s voice cut in as he swept down a long flight of stairs at the end of the room. “Now, which of you should I deal with first?”

“Me,” I said instantly, thinking of Althea’s already weakened state and the fact that even with that she still was most likely to be able to get   
us out of here.

“No,” Althea protested. “Me. I’m trained to withstand torture.”

“Hmm,” Moderno hummed, glancing between us. “This is an interesting dilemma. Lena will break first under torture, and Althea will break first watching her be tortured. Then again, touching Lena’s pretty little body will be more fun, since messing with the Potters is a gratifying occupation, but maybe Althea here will break just like her mother."

Althea’s body jerked and she struggled against her chains.

“You bastard,” she breathed. “You leave my mother out of this!”

“Oh, but this is delightful!” Moderno clapped, “You’re exactly like her! I threatened to go after you and she turned into a wildcat.” He removed his wand from his sleeve and flicked it so that I soared away from the wall and was rebound to a series of chains hanging from the ceiling in front of him. “She was so indignant,” he reminisced, drowning out Althea’s protests. “Such a goody two-shoes, keeping her nose out of the smuggling business. Just wanted to make some extra money to be able to take her baby girl out of the shambles they lived in and rent a nice flat somewhere.”   
A tear leaked from Althea’s eye, but she sat perfectly still now. And then he punched me. The wind fled my lungs and I doubled over, trying to force air back into my body. Althea screamed. Moderno laughed, hitting me again and again.

“How much do the Aurors know about me?” He demanded. “Have they cracked the Department of Mysteries yet?” I stayed silent, meeting Althea’s eyes. “Crucio,” he muttered, and I screamed in agony. Moderno waited until I was panting for breath again before speaking. “We’re operating under a rewards system here,” he explained. “Answers mean no pain.” I was silent until the next curse hit, the tremors shaking me so hard that my shoulder twisted out of its socket with a sickening pop.

“Stop!” Althea screamed. “She doesn’t know anything! She’s just a press liaison, she only knows what they want her to tell reporters, which isn’t anything! I’ve been babysitting her, making sure she doesn’t get too nosy. She knows nothing!”

“Thea, hush,” I mumbled, unable to form her full name. “Shh.”

“Is that true?” Moderno appraised me. “Maybe. Does it matter? No.” He flicked his wand casually, and a slash creased my back.

Later, I was not able to tell the Aurors how many times he slashed me because at that point, I retreated to somewhere inside my mind.   
Delirious, one of the Healers proclaimed. It wasn’t unconsciousness, but it wasn’t consciousness either, and next thing I knew I was lying on the floor, again chained to the wall. Althea was slumped over on her side of the room, watching me intently, and she jerked as I woke.

“He’s gone,” she whispered hoarsely. “For now. But it’s only a matter of time. Listen, Lena, I’m going to bait him. You’re going to let him, and when he’s preoccupied with me, you need to get out or at least to his wand.”

“There are a lot of things wrong with this plan,” I noted wryly. “Like you using the sacrifice play, and me magically escaping . . .”

“Lena! We have to do this. Here.” She twisted at a painful angle until she was able to push a sliver of glass at me with her hands and then her feet. I slid down the wall as far as my chains would allow me to go to retrieve the glass. “When he comes back, pretend you’re still asleep,” she hissed at me. “You have to get to his wand. Use that Ravenclaw brain of yours to find a spell to tell the Aurors where we are.”

“And just how do you think I’m going to be able to take his wand away?”

“Trust me,” Althea said grimly.

My bonds were proving thicker than I had expected, but not impossible.

“Just like a wizard,” I tutted. “Guarding the bonds against all magical means of escape and forgetting the simplest Muggle ones.” Althea spared me a grim smile. Then the door creaked, and I strove to look unconscious again.

There was a story that circulated Hogwarts, that Harry Potter had sacrificed himself to Voldemort, then survived the Killing Curse a second time. He had played dead until he was able to get back to his army and had defeated Voldemort then.

Be like Potter, I reminded myself as Moderno’s slimy presence filled the room.

“You’re a bastard,” Althea said conversationally. “My mother was right not to want to sleep with you.”

“What?” Moderno asked, tension that had not previously been there leaking into his voice.

“You said she was a goody two shoes,” Althea continued. “But you were in love with her, weren’t you? Offered her a way out of her life of poverty, tied down to a husband and child. You could take her away, support her in style. And she turned you down. She never loved you. She loved my father, and it ate at you. The one person whose love you craved, the one thing that no amount of money could buy you.”

“Shut up!” Moderno screamed, sounding more desperate now. “Shut up, you spawn of . . .”

“That’s why you killed her, Moderno. That’s when you lost whatever last vestiges of humanity you possessed. You killed the woman you loved, and now you have to face her daughter.”

“Silence!” he sounded positively unhinged now, and Althea let out a little gasp of pain.

“Did you torture her like this too, Maderno? Try and make the pain convince her to love you?” Althea’s voice was a pained croak, and I fought to stay silent, desperately sawing at the ropes behind my back. She had promised a distraction, now I just had to fulfill my end of the bargain.

“Crucio!” Althea didn’t scream. She laughed, a crazed, maniacal sound that shook me.

“Crucio,” Maderno yelled again, desperate. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Althea’s gruesome laughter filled the chamber, echoing off the stone walls and floor, mingling with Moderno’s curses, and I thought I was going to go mad, sawing away at the chains with increasing despair, not even trying to keep the tears from spilling down my face. Then there was a quiet snap, and I was free. Silently I unwound the ropes from my wrists, struggling to stand with the aid of the wall, my palms slipping a bit and I realized distantly that the glass had torn them as well as the ropes.   
Maderno had Althea strung up on the ropes from which I had been hanging earlier, and so his back was to me, all of his attention on Althea. He seemed to forgotten his wand; it hung limply from his hand, and I saw my opportunity.   
The second I lunged for the wand, Althea’s eyes snapped open, and she snapped her own ropes with a bloodcurdling scream and tackled Maderno. Well, more like fell on top of him ungracefully, but it was all of the distraction I needed to grip the wand and mutter, prayerlike, a desperate charm.   
There was a gargled scream from Althea behind me, and the next thing I knew, I was being flung against the far wall. As I sat up, dazed, I saw the crumpled form of Althea, and Moderno sitting next to her.

“Did you forget about wandless magic, pet?” He inquired, shoving Althea roughly away and standing shakily. “Did you really think your little plan would work?” I was about to inform him that it had, actually, thank you very much, except he snapped his fingers, and suddenly my leg was trying to twist itself into splinters, and the sass I had on my tongue was transformed into a howl of pain.

That was, of course, how the Aurors found us, Potter and Weasley charging in with Levitt and the rest hot on their tail. There was a brief flurry of spells, the variance of light playing games with my already sore head, and the next thing I knew, I was being used as a shield, Maderno’s wand digging into my temple.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warned, voice shaking in a way that told me Althea’s distraction had done a number on his own head.

“Maderno, let her go. You’re surrounded. Even if you kill her, which incidentally I would not advise, this does not end well for you.”

“What he means, is drop the girl, you . . .” Whatever undoubtedly ear-blistering words came out of Weasley’s mouth next no one caught because I locked eyes with Potter and closed my eyes. Then I was collapsing to the ground, dropping all of my weight as fast as possible. Maderno, caught off guard, was left wide open for just the amount of time Potter needed, and he flew backward with the force of the stunners sent his way.

The fall had jarred my leg and every other cut and bruise began screaming. Pain was washing over me finally as the adrenaline wore off, but I saw Potter hurrying over to me. Wait, two Potters?

“Why’s there two of you, boss?” I slurred, and one of them chuckled.

“She’s all yours, Al,” one said, and Albus ducked into my view.

“Hi.” I felt brisk but practiced fingers running along my torso, feeling for broken bones.

“’Lo.”

“I would like you to never, ever scare me like that ever again, got it?” I peered into Al’s face, concerned by the tension I heard in his tone. It was a riot of emotion, from anger and hatred to sorrow and a rainbow of things I couldn’t quite name.

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Can you feel your feet?”

“Are you asking me to dance?” The words were out of my lips before I could stop them, but I was rewarded by Al’s serious face cracking   
into a hint of a smile. Then I frowned. “Al?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” I couldn’t help glowing a bit at that.

“I’m gonna pass out now.” And then I was sliding into the bliss of unconsciousness.

 

Lime green was the first thing I saw as my eyes blinked open.

“Hey, sleepyhead. Nice to see you awake.”

“Is that what’s happening? Al, Maderno, we have to get to him. . . Althea!” I tried to sit up, but hands caught me.

“Not yet,” Al’s voice chided gently. “We got you. You’ve both been safe in Mungo’s for three days now. And, I believe you have plenty more healing to do before we can go dancing again.”

“Oh god, you remember that.” My face must have resembled a tomato.

“It was fairly memorable, you propositioning me when all I wanted to do was get your sorry butt to the hospital.”

“Propositioning?” George’s voice came from the other side of the room, and I turned to see him sitting next to a bed that held Althea. “I definitely heard something about propositioning, Thea, and I think I’d like to be part of it.”

“Of course you would, idiot,” Althea grumbled. “It’s the only way you’d get any.”

“Ouch,” George moaned. “Be still, my wounded heart. Potter, do you see the blood?”

“Aye, it looks like a mortal wound, my friend,” Al agreed, grinning at me then George.

“Alright, Althea?”

“I’d be better if this idiot wasn’t here bumbling about,” she growled, but the look that she and George shared took all of the heat out of it.

“She sounds fine to me,” I told Al, and he leaned down to kiss my forehead.

“I’m glad, love. Now, I should go find your healer.”

“Wait, you’re not my healer?”

“Nah.” Al shook his head. “Too close to the patient and the case. I’m actually on my break right now.”

“Bloke takes a lot of breaks,” George snickered.

“Yeah, well, not all of us have bosses quite as sympathetic as yours,” Al snarked back. “This actually is me on break; some of the other times have been me sneaking in between rounds and during downtimes.”

“I appreciate it,” I assured him. “Though maybe talk to your unsympathetic boss about the lime green robes? They’re not quite your color.” Al stuck his tongue out at me as he left.

The healer, Healer Willoughby, came and went, leaving me with a kind mediwitch and a night table full of potions, most of which I fervently hoped didn’t taste as bad as they smelled.

“Go on, dear,” Mediwitch Eileen prompted, pushing the potion into my hands as she unwound the bandages on my leg. “It only tastes bad for a moment.” I gave her an unimpressed look, remembering the Muggle doctors of my childhood telling me the same thing about shots. And those hurt. George appeared at my side.

“I’ll tickle you.”

“Then I’ll spit this in your face.” His grin was impish. “George. George!” He tickled me around the bandages on my ribs until I finally held up the vial. “Fine! Surrender!”

“Remind me to pass on to Al the knowledge that Lena is ticklish,” he told Althea, retreating back to her bedside.

“Or don’t,” I muttered around a grimace at the foul taste of god only knows what was in that potion.

“Magdalena Constanza Shepard!” My parents chose that moment to enter, and I winced again, looking pitifully at Nurse Eileen.

“I will remind you to keep the noise down,” she said, with an amused look at my face and a serious one for my parents. “These two patients are healing and need peace.”

“Constanza?” George hissed as my mother was distracted talking to Nurse Eileen.

“Shut up,” I muttered sulkily as Althea made rude hand gestures at me. She and George seemed to be enjoying my parents’ visit immensely. 

“Magdalena, you promised us that this was a safe job,” my mother rounded on me the second that Nurse Eileen had gone. Yes, this was my mother on the warpath.

“I thought it was, mum, but working for the Aurors . . .”

“You nearly gave me a heart attack, Magdalena! I send an owl expecting to hear about the ball and instead get a frantic reply from India, who only knew that she hadn’t heard from you in a full day, and that her roommate had returned saying you had gone early with the Aurors. I was worried sick!”

Potter and Price appeared at the doorway, looking sympathetic but exhausted, and I suddenly had no doubt that my mother had gone through them. I mouthed an apology that Potter accepted with a subtle dip of his head. For several hours my mother remained at my bedside, imperiously interrogating everyone she saw, much to the chagrin of the Healers and mediwitches of the ward. About midway through this reign of terror, George had seemingly magically procured a wheelchair for Althea and excused them both from the room, claiming impending medical treatments.   
Althea was the sole Auror my mother seemed to exempt from blame over what had happened to me, and thus she had spent approximately half of her time with me simultaneously questioning and doting on Althea. The latter looked downright uncomfortable with all of the attention, and George’s timely rescue was a reprieve that I could only slightly envy her. It wasn’t until Healer Willoughby showed up an hour later, flanked by Al and Nurse Eileen that I caught a break of my own.

“Ma’am,” Healer Willoughby began.

“Oh, yes.” My mother’s sharp glance turned abruptly on him, and he looked rather startled. My father sighed with a long suffering air and kissed my forehead.

“It was good seeing you, sweetheart,” he told me with a smile, and proceeded to aid Healer Willoughby in the chivvying of my mother from the room. Nurse Eileen and Al were left, the former letting out a low whistle.

“How’d you end up so sweet, girl?”

“From my father,” I told her emphatically, and she and Al chuckled. As Nurse Eileen began her checkup of me, she told us about how my mother had terrified both the Aurors and Mediwitches at the front desk into letting her through.

“I would almost consider asking her to join our department,” my boss laughed from the doorway. “Imagine the success she would have in talking criminals to death or submission.”

“That’s my mother,” I sighed. “Sorry about that, sir.”

“Oh no,” Potter grinned. “It was quite enlightening, Miss Shepard.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” I countered, prompting another laugh before Potter turned serious.  
“We need to debrief you,” he said, nodding to Nurse Eileen as she excused herself from the room. “Fox has already been debriefed, and so if you’re not too tired, now would be an ideal time.”

“Go for it,” I sighed. “I doubt it can be much worse than my mother.” Potter’s lips twitched, and he began.

Two hours later, and I only knew that because Albus knocked at the door with takeout bags and India, we were finally done. In painstaking detail, I had recounted the entire incident, from the time we had parted with Potter to waking up in the hospital.

“Impeccable timing,” I whispered to Al as Potter stood to greet India.

“I try,” he whispered back, brushing a kiss to my forehead that made my insides tingle.

“Eww,” India said, offering the token response, but her tone was flat as she surveyed me. Unconciously, Al shuffled backward. And then   
India was all but on top of me. 

“I was so worried,” she half-yelled in my ear. “Lacey came back without you, and I figured you had gotten lucky . . .” her eyes trailed up to Al, and a blush fired my cheeks, “and then I find out a day later that you’re in the hospital, only no one will tell me why, and I can’t see   
you, and Magdalena Constanza Shepard, if you ever scare me like that again, then god help you because I will get your mother on my side, and together we will wrap you in bubble wrap and lock you in a padded room or sic a minder on you!”

“Are you done?”   
India deflated a bit.

“Yeah,” she said. “Only I wish you wouldn’t ever, ever do that again. She threw herself into my arms. Above her head, Albus was nodding so enthusiastically, I momentarily entertained the notion that he might hurt his neck.

“I agree with her,” he stage whispered, and India snuffled a laugh into my sheets.

“I missed you,” I told her.


	11. In Which I Meet the Family

Two Weeks Later  
“Hold on, Al! I’m almost done!” Frantically, I attempted to smooth my unruly curls into place.

“You look lovely, dear,” Mrs. Gardiner assured me as I swore at them.

“Thanks.” But it didn’t sound very grateful, short and bit out as it was.

“Lena, calm down. They’re going to love you,” Al chuckled, appearing at the bathroom door. “You’ve already met the majority of the family-my parents and Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione, and all of my cousins, and they’re the scariest, believe me. The others are cake compared to them. Seriously, Nana Weasley will adore you the second she first pinches your cheeks, and Granddad will pester you about that television set of yours.”

I humphed at him. 

“Of course some of the most prominent witches and wizards in modern history aren’t intimidating to you. Additionally, they’re all grouped in a tiny, miniscule space! Capturing my wrist in his hand, Al tugged so that I was pulled against him.

“There’s a trick,” he whispered, breath tickling my ear in a way that made a shiver run down my spine. His response was another chuckle, lower this time.

“There is?” I breathed.

“Of course there is,” he replied, brushing kisses across my forehead. “Isn’t there always a trick, Miss Ravenclaw?” My only response was another shiver. “It’s to act like you’re not afraid. They can smell fear, my family. If you can act just as relaxed as them, then they will accept you. It’s only if you fangirl that they get annoyed and close off.”

“I very nearly fangirled at your Aunt Hermione,” I said dryly, “But if I avoided that one, then believe me, Percy Weasley is inspiring no hysterics to speak of.”

“What, the thickness of cauldron bottoms is in no way stimulating to you?” Al pulled back, smoothed a curl. “Damn. I have to rethink my master plan of seducing you.”

“Oh, shut up.” I swatted him out of the bathroom. “Let’s go meet your family.”

 

The Burrow was exactly the same as it had been in all the photographs I had ever seen, both in history books and from Al. Neither war nor fame had altered its homely appearance, and that thought comforted me immeasurably.

“Here it is,” Al said, noticing my gaze. “the infamous home of the Weasley clan.” No sooner had he said that than a pack of children accosted us, screaming for Uncle Al.

“Hey, guys,” he exclaimed, scooping up the smallest. “Everyone, this is Lena.”

“Hi, Aunty Lena!” the kids chorused, making me blush and Al grin.

“Lena, this is Joseph, Mark and Susan.” The last was the tiny girl he held in his arms, who offered a pudgy fist to me.

“It’s very good to meet you, Aunt Lena,” she said solemnly. Al chuckled and set her down as I assured her that it was a pleasure to meet her as well. As soon as they were off, I turned and punched him.

“Not funny.”

“A little bit.” His grin threatened to break out again. “A lot. Joseph and Susan are Teddy and Vic’s kids, and Mark belongs to Uncle Percy’s daughter Molly and her husband Rick.”

“Oh joy. More Weasleys.”

“Technically, they’re two Lupins and a Hartfield,” Al said, dodging my half hearted slap and leading me into the house.

My first impression was one of an explosion of noise. There was a veritable hoard of red heads everywhere I looked, and my trepidation must have shown on my face because Al pulled me to a relatively quiet corner in which resided Dominique, curled up with a book in her lap.

“Hey, Dom.”

“Al! Lena!” I was surprised that she remembered my name, and by the warmth with which she greeted us. “Good to see you!” We made   
small talk for awhile before Al ducked away, and I made faces at his retreating back.

“First time at a Weasley family gathering?” Dom asked sympathetically, and I was forced to stop making faces and turn to Dom again.

“Yes. Is it that obvious?”

Dom nodded an affirmative, and I smiled in a way that seemed more of a grimace.

“Don’t worry. You’re doing very well. I understand; my family can be a bit much for even me sometimes. Now, you wanna shock Al?

“Sure.”

“Let’s go.”

Dom set her book aside and stood up, unfolding a lovely figure that I was instantly envious of. She led me through a group, some of whom I recognized as cousins. Fred, Louis and Roxanne waved hello, and I returned a smile. We waded through another group, this one populated by older people who I guessed to be Aunts, Uncles and friends. I exchanged a few more waves, ducked away from an “Ah! I’d recognize your aura anywhere!” and ran into Rose and Scorp.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Scop laughed as Rose hugged me.

“More like garden gnome,” she chuckled, hugging Dom as well.

“Nah.” Scorpius made a face. “I helped your Grandmum de-gnome earlier. The buggers won’t be dragging anything for awhile.”

Albus was indeed surprised when he found us a short time later.

“Can’t keep Lena in a corner,” he grinned. Dom slugged his shoulder.

“Shouldn’t put your lovely girlfriend in a corner, Alby. Never know who might pick her up.”

“Yeah,” I said, adopting the superior tone Dom had used. “What if . . .”

“Albus! Dominique! And this must be the infamous Magdalena Sheppard!” Rose and Scorp had managed to melt into the crowd as we were accosted by none other than Al’s Uncle Percy.

“That had happened?” I finished muttering to Al before turning back and pasting on a smile for the tall, balding and bespectacled wizard before us.

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Weasley.”

This last bit I said too loud, and half of the men in the room turned simultaneously and said, “Yes?” 

I was blushing and apologizing when something collided with my leg, and I staggered backward. Al steadied me as a loud voice screamed, 

“Aunty Lena, they’re being mean!”

I stared down, wondering, in a kind of dazed state of humiliation, how on earth such a loud noise could come from such a small being. There were a few beats of incredulous silence. And then uproarious laughter. Susan was latched onto my leg, but as I pulled her into my arms, she instantly wrapped her chubby limbs around me.

“Why don’t you hang out with me and Uncle Al for a bit then?” I asked her, willing the fire to leave my cheeks.”

“Okay.” The laughter was dying out now, and thankfully, Uncle Percy had been sidetracked.

“Well, that’s how you know you’ve been accepted,” a voice behind me said wryly, and I spun to see Ginny Potter. “We haven’t had a chance to talk yet.”

“No, we haven’t, really,” I acknowledged, trying to ignore the fact that my mouth had gone dry the moment I was confronted with my boyfriend’s mother. Said boyfriend was currently chatting with his brother across the room, and no help at all.

“I talk to you, Aunty Ginny,” Susan piped up.

“That you do, sweetheart,” Ginny chuckled, smoothing the girl’s hair.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Potter?”

“Well,” Ginny replied, twirling a lock of Susan’s blond hair around her finger and smiling absently at the little girl’s giggles. “I’m glad that you’re back after your kidnapping. How are the nightmares?”

I gaped at her.

“Nightmares?” She waited patiently. “How did you . . .”

“Harry rescued me from something comparable back in my first year. The nightmares were terrible.”

“Oh. Not as bad anymore, I suppose. The first week, I didn’t get much sleep.” The fact that I was divulging this information to my boyfriend’s mother, the famous war hero, Quidditch player and now trainer was more than a tiny bit surreal. It got worse when she nodded.

“Well, let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“Thanks.”

There was silence for a few moments.

“I’m a huge Harpies fan.” Then I remembered the no fangirling rule, and almost slapped myself.

“You are? Excellent! You can help me drag Al to matches once in a while. He’s the only one of my children who didn’t inherit the fascination with Quidditch that seems to run in the family. Speaking of which, after dinner, we have to have a family match. What position would you like?”

“Aunty Ginny, can I be a Chaser?” Susan cut in, eyes wide, and Mrs. Potter smiled. “In a few years, sweetheart. For now, though, I have an even more important job for you.”

The little girl ate it up.

“I need you to help Aunt Hermione and Aunt Audrey referee. You can smack anyone who they yell at, okay? But don’t tell them I told you to do that.”

Susan smiled beatifically and squirmed to be put down.

“Such a bad influence,” Albus mock huffed at his mother, appearing behind me.

“It’s fun when they’re someone else’s responsibility.” Mrs. Potter’s grin was positively wicked.

Dinner was not long after that. Since it was impossible to fit a table long enough for the entire Weasley clan inside the already magically expanded house, we sat in the garden in the cool of the evening. I sat sandwiched between Al and Roxanne, with Teddy, Scorpius and Rosie across the table. I can assure you that it was an entertaining meal.

The eldest Mrs. Weasley, who did indeed pinch my cheeks and squeeze me into one of the tightest hugs I have ever received, directed clean up. We carefully (for the most part) levitated dishes back into the kitchen, where Hermione Weasley was orchestrating the dish washing, using her wand to have several plates scrubbing themselves simultaneously. The tables were easily shrunk and returned to their proper locations, and the brooms were brought out. I witnessed several squabbles over who got which broom, the most entertaining between Ron and Fred. It took Hermione and Angelina to break it up. Ron sulked away.  
James and Lily were busy bullying Albus into playing.

“Albus, you’re going to be our Keeper.”

“No really, I’m perfectly fine sitting here with Aunt Victore and Aunt Luna.”

“Albus, you’re going to be our Keeper, or I’m going to hex you pink.”

Albus surveyed his sister, thoroughly unimpressed.

“You did that back in fifth year.” I laughed, remembering that week, and all three pairs of eyes swiveled to me. James looked as though Christmas had come early.

“Lena, nice to meet you,” he said, pumping my hand.

“Calm down, I’ll do it,” I sighed, dropping James’s hand and sidling up to Al. He watched me warily as I rested my hands on his shoulders, not entirely accidentally giving him an excellent view of my cleavage.

“Albus, please play Quidditch with me?” He hesitated, and I stood on my tiptoes, sliding up his body until I was level with his ear. “Good things will come of this,” I promised in a whisper, running my lips along his earlobe as I pulled away. Albus shivered. James and Lily looked at me with admiration.

“Fine.” Albus’s voice was noticeably higher than normal, sparking another round of laughter. “Why did I introduce you?” He asked sulkily, and I pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“I like you,” Lily decided. “I’ll go get you two brooms.” She pinched Albus’s side before skipping off. James coughed something along the   
lines of ‘whipped’ before following.

“Your family’s not so bad,” I told him, and he turned to me.

“Is that so?”

“Yep.” My breath caught as he stepped into my space.

“You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

“I do,” he admitted, lowering his mouth to mine. The kiss was slow and passionate, and when we broke apart for the annoying necessity of air, the entire Weasley clan had assembled to catcall and whistle and otherwise jeer. I buried my face into Al’s chest, cheeks flaming red, and he waved his family away.

“Don’t you all have better things to do? Children to scold, brooms to steal or spouses to sneak off with?”

This question was greeted by an uproar of noise, but they all began drifting off, mounting brooms or sauntering off.

“I love you.”

I choked, thoroughly caught off guard. “I’m sorry?”

Al’s eyes were steady on mine, his gaze serious. “I love you,” he repeated, and I smiled.

“I love you too.”

 

THE END


End file.
